


So: A Hollywood Fairytale

by fourteencandles (thingsbaker)



Category: Entourage
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsbaker/pseuds/fourteencandles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Vince is half of the perfect Hollywood couple... and loves E, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted at Livejournal in 2008 and beta-read then by dancinbutterfly and silviakundera.

So Vince wakes up one morning and realizes he's in love. This must be what it feels like - this desire to touch all the time, and not just in sexual ways but casually, the way it feels better when they're in contact, somehow, even if it's just Eric's knee brushing Vince's on the couch in Ari's office or Vince's hand on Eric's back when they push through a crowded club. Right now, Eric's crashed out next to him, sleeping on his stomach though Vince keeps telling him it's bad for his complexion: he should sleep on his back, like Vince, or maybe on his side, which at least wouldn't be so hard on his spine. But no, dammit, Eric is a stomach sleeper and won't even try it the other way, and right now, Vince looks down at him and sees the blue cloth of the pillowcase ripple with an exhale, sees a thin strip of pale skin with tiny brown freckles exposed where his T-shirt has ridden up, and thinks,  _he's the fucking cutest thing ever_ , and then he knows it must be love. What else could turn him into such a girl?

He leans over and kisses Eric's neck, slides his hand up under the back of Eric's T-shirt, rubbing his poor, stomach-sleeper-abused spine with two fingers. Eric grumbles and bats at Vince's face with one hand, but he doesn't  _really_  sound angry. He just sounds reluctant to wake up, which Vince can understand, sure, he can sympathize with wanting to sleep in. They've been running around all week - Eric in particular, because he's been trying to get some deal closed for Vince to do voice-overs on a new major animated film - and there's the upcoming premiere to worry about. Vince gets it. Eric's earned this sleep. Except when Eric's sleeping Vince should be sleeping, and he can't sleep, he's through, he's up for the day and, right now, up for something more.

"C'mon, rise and shine," Vince murmurs into Eric's hair.

"Ten more minutes," Eric says, patting Vince's cheek.

Vince huffs but pulls back, because Eric must really be tired if he's hitting the snooze button on sex. He slides his arms behind his head, closes his eyes, wills himself to go back to sleep. No dice. So he tries to conjure up something that might work to get him through - some sexy image - but everything he can think of is ineffective. All of his old standbys, even the two girls that night in New York in the rooftop hot tub, do nothing for him, because all of the thrill of the memory is ruined when he feels bad for thinking about these girls when Eric's right there next to him.

Eric. Vince tries again. He thinks about sex with Eric, how nicely they fit together, how good it is because Eric knows exactly what he wants, all the time, and Vince has learned how to reciprocate so nicely, too. And he thinks how this has always been true, how even before they got together, they just - fit, how Eric could answer his questions with a tilt of his head or how they could just talk about stuff, easy, quick, like telepathy half the time. Their first kiss was like that, actually: they were sitting on the couch, watching some show that Johnny just adored but that was boring the fuck out of everyone else, and Turtle was passing around the bong. Vince got the last hit off of it, and as he leaned over the bong, Johnny accused him of bogarting. 

Eric, already wasted, said, "I bet he'll share," and turned and put his hand on Vince's shoulder. Vince grinned, his lungs starting to burn with smoke, and waited until Eric's mouth was sealed over his before he parted his lips, breathed gently. Eric's eyes were bright and laughing when he pulled back, and Vince returned his smile, not worried in the least, not even really aware that anything had happened. This was shit they'd pulled in high school, when money had been low and the weed had been sparse. That night, they both exhaled and kept grinning while the other guys teased them about being fags.

"What is this, some kind of pot-induced orgy?" Turtle said, and that made Vince laugh hard enough he started coughing.

"Shut up, Turtle," Eric said. He rubbed Vince's back until Vince settled down, then Vince settled back against the couch, his head resting on Eric's arm. Eric was still sitting kind of sideways, which meant his neck was right at Vince's eye level, and Vince had this crazy urge to lick it. He shook his head and looked over at Turtle, who was repacking the bong methodically.

"You could've just waited a minute, is what I'm saying." He capped the chamber while he talked and it filled with smoke. "You didn't have to do anything kinky."

Eric snorted. "You think me taking a hit off Vince is kinky, you must be the most vanilla guy in America. Jesus Christ."

"Yeah," Vince said, starting to really feel the pot. Everything was getting kind of nice and loose and mellow around him. "Hey, I thought that was you, E."

Eric gave him a long-suffering glare, the old why-do-I-put-up-with-your-shit-anyway glance that Vince found strangely comforting. He also, that night, found it a little hot, particularly the way Eric held his mouth all tight, his lips in a disapproving frown.

"I'm not vanilla," Eric said. His arm was still bent behind Vince's head, and Vince turned so he was breathing into the tender skin at the crook of Eric's elbow. "Knock that off," Eric said, pulling his arm back, and Vince laughed.

Turtle offered them the bong. Vince passed, but Eric took another hit, which was a little weird because he usually was not a big stoner. Tonight, though, it looked like he was going to sacrifice his own rules on the altar of friendship, and "for fucking once," in Turtle's words, "take a night off from running the whole goddamned world and chill with your boys."

Which was why they were on the couches, Eric settling in close when he finally leaned back, Johnny talking on and on and on about this TV series, Turtle keeping the bong on the floor by his chair, in case he needed to re-up. They were having a guys' night, just some time not to think about the sins of business that waited outside, some time where no agents or producers or, even, managers were working to sell Vince anything, some time where the only lies anyone told were about girls they had or hadn't fucked.

"Hey, that's my cousin," Eric protested around one a.m., when Turtle was listing his Best-Ever Bangs from back home. "C'mon, man, that's family."

Vince tensed a little - as much as he could, at least, riding the nice mellow of Turtle's finest - because he didn't want to see Eric's temper flare. He wanted things to be cool, to just stay cool. He put his hand on Eric's back and rubbed, just a few long slow strokes up and down.

"He didn't mean anything," Vince said. He leaned forward and draped himself over Eric's back, one arm slung around his shoulder and chest. "C'mon, c'mon," he whispered, and Eric nodded and rested against him, let Vince draw him back to the couch. He stayed like that, sitting quietly against Vince's chest like it was something they'd ever done before, and though Vince blamed it on the pot he also knew he wanted it, he liked it, having Eric close like that. When Johnny fell asleep in his chair and Turtle, annoyed by the snoring, said he was going to bed, Eric pulled away too, and Vince stared up at him, not ready to let the nice evening end. He stood up, anyway, and followed Eric to the kitchen, where he watched him cleaning up the bottles left out after dinner.

He was standing there, staring at the lower cabinets, trying not to think about how warm and solid Eric had been against his chest, when Eric turned and said, "I've been thinking," and then kissed him. And Vince knew there were a hundred things he should have thought in that moment, a hundred different complex feelings he should have leaned on, but what he really felt, in that brief moment, was relief.

You like me, too, he thought, and then smiled against Eric's mouth. "I like the way you think," Vince said, and Eric laughed, his hands on Vince's waist. "So - what else, what else were you thinking?"

"I think your bed is a lot bigger than mine," Eric said, and yeah, Vince thought - said - he wasn't even sure, but he knew Eric got the message, because that's where they ended up.

And that's still where they are, right now, except that night a month ago, Eric was wide awake and now he's snoring softly again. Vince pokes him in the side and Eric stops snoring but doesn't really stir, and so he decides maybe this is a lost cause, maybe Eric isn't going to get up and give him what he wants after all. He knows that if he keeps pushing, eventually Eric will wake up, yes, but then he'll be all pissy and that's not at all conducive to morning sex. Besides, at this point, if he keeps trying he's gonna look desperate for it; it's a matter of pride, he tells himself, sitting up and rolling away from Eric's slack body. He pulls on a pair of track pants and a crumpled T-shirt, casts one last glance at Eric, then pads out to the kitchen.

Johnny's at the island mixing something, and he grins brightly when Vince takes a seat at the table. "Hey, I was gonna make your favorite, you're just in time," he says.

"Oh yeah?" Vince smiles and nods and wonders what Johnny thinks his favorite is. Could be anything; he likes food, likes pretty much everything Johnny does short of the shitty health food he sometimes tries to foist off on them. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion, just felt like making my baby bro and his special friend some quality grub," Johnny says, and Vince laughs to keep from flinching.

"Special friend?" he says as Johnny sets a glass of fresh orange juice in front of him. "You mean E?" Though it’s been going on for a month, they’ve never talked to the other guys about it. Hell, they’ve never even talked about it between themselves.

"Yeah, of course." Johnny's beating the crap out of something, now, the whisk colliding jarringly with the side of the glass bowl. Vince hopes there aren't pieces of bowl in his eggs or whatever. 

“Uh, OK,” Vince says. He sips the juice, which is cold and perfectly tart. “Hey, uh, why now?”

Johnny looks over. “It’s been a couple of weeks, I figure you’re not just hooking up, right?" Vince nods. “So there you go. Hey, look, I just want you to know, whatever's going on, man, it's fine with me. I support whatever you do. Johnny Chase has no prejudice, you know what I mean?"

"We talking about your dating policy again, Drama?" Eric asks. Vince looks over in surprise; he was sure Eric was going to sleep until noon, at least. And he still looks sleepy, his eyes barely open, his hair sticking up on all sides. He yawns and rubs his face and then sits across from Vince. Johnny is running a hand blender through the mix now; Vince has literally no idea what he's making, but he's glad for the noise.

"I thought you were still sleeping," Vince says quietly.

Eric shrugs. "Who can sleep through this racket?"

Vince raises an eyebrow, but Eric just shrugs again and sinks back into his chair. "Johnny's making my favorite," he says.

"Yeah? Seems like a lot of work for scrambled eggs," Eric says, and Vince laughs.

"He says - " Vince screws up his courage, because they haven't really talked about this, yet, haven't even come close to putting a label on things. "He says it's for us, to, uh, celebrate our 'special friendship.'" He makes finger quotes on the last words and Eric, who's drinking from Vince's orange juice glass, gasps and chokes.

"Hey, you OK?" Vince asks, leaning forward, and Eric flashes the OK sign but keeps coughing.

Johnny stops blending and says, "Jesus, E, you all right?"

"I think he needs something to drink," Vince says, though Eric's settling back down, now, his coughing getting looser.

"Yeah," Johnny says, and pulls out a glass. "E, I've got just the thing, I went out and bought some of the passion fruit juice you like, special for today."

"Oh, Christ," Eric says very softly, and shakes his head. "Drama, what's going on?"

Johnny sets the orangish juice in front of Eric, but Eric just looks up at him. "What?" Johnny says, and his fake-innocent act isn't anything a casting director should ever buy. "Look, you guys finally got together, I think it's cool," he says. "Is that so weird?"

"A little," Eric says, but he takes the juice and drinks it, and when he says it's good, Vince gets that this is his thanks. He feels something - an emotion he can't quite name - well up in his chest, something like love or wonder or just gratitude, for both Eric and Johnny. What he's feeling for Eric is a little too raw for him to acknowledge right now, so he grins over at his brother, who's spooning some of the yellowish mixture out to taste.

"This is Hollandaise to die for," Drama says.

"It always is," Vince says, raising his glass in a toast.

"Eggs Benedict?" Eric asks, and Vince shrugs.

"Just go with it," he says, and when Johnny sets a the plate in front of him - ham and egg still warm, the blended sauce drizzled in a neat, perfect X - he grins and says, "Hey, wow, Johnny, this looks  _amazing_."

"Nothing but the best for you," he says.

After breakfast, Johnny shoos them out of the kitchen - which isn't unusual at all, because he likes to know exactly where everything is - and Vince heads back to his own room, Eric up to his, without saying anything. Vince wonders if he should worry about that, decides he's not going to, not yet. So what, Johnny knows. It's not like they've exactly been working to hide it; Eric waking up in his room is pretty fucking obvious. But who knows, maybe Eric's gonna freak out about this. Or maybe - maybe for him it's just been a month of hot sex. Maybe they've never talked about it because for Eric there's nothing to talk about.

Nah. Vince knows Eric. It's no secret that when he hooks up, it's serious. Vince used to find that puzzling and a little weird; now, he thinks it's sexy, because it means that right now, up in his shower, Eric's probably thinking about him, too. It means this is all more than a hook up, more than just star lust like the girls from the clubs, more than just a friends-with-bennies arrangement. No, Eric wants him, he's sure of it, and secret or not, things are only going to get better.  
  


 

* * *

 

"So I think we should talk to Ari," Eric says that afternoon.

"Why?" Vince says. He's stretched out on a lounge chair in his bathing suit, catching a little sun, Eric next to him reading through a script. It's important that he get this tan naturally; no way is he having a repeat of that last movie, where the makeup tech made him look positively orange with that spray-on gunk. "You worried about the residuals still?"

"I mean - about this thing," Eric says, and when Vince looks up, Eric waves his hand between the two of them.

"Oh, this," Vince says, grinning, settling his head on his arms. "You mean the thing where right now you want to jump me?"

"I mean the thing where right now I  _could_  jump you," Eric says.

"And apparently my brother would cheer you on."

Eric snorts. "Do you buy that?"

"I don't know," Vince says. "I guess. He's trying, I mean, that's pretty cool."

"Yeah," Eric agrees. "I think maybe Ari won't be so nice."

Vince props his head up on one hand. "So why tell him?" he says.

"Because he probably should know," Eric says, but he sounds reluctant. "I mean, in case of, I don't know, emergency, or something."

"Emergency? Like what, a sex emergency?" Vince grins and reaches out, puts his hand on Eric's leg. He's wearing loose khaki shorts that should be kind of dorky, but Vince likes them; he can slide his hand up under the cloth a little, rest his fingers on the freckled skin above Eric's knee while he talks. "You think the hospital should call him if I injure you in bed?"

"I mean like if someone gets wind of this," Eric says. "Someone who shouldn't. You see how that could be a real emergency?"

Vince shrugs, even though, yeah, he gets it. He knows it could be bad for his career. Then again, the alternative - not being with E - seems like a worse idea. "So why tell Ari, then? I mean, shouldn't we just try and keep it as quiet as possible?"

"Yeah, maybe," Eric agrees, "but those paparazzi, they're crazy, Vin. You know that. They've been looking for a story on you since the last film. I think - we need to assume this is gonna get out, somehow. They're vampires. They'll suck it out of someone. Ari may sometimes have a big mouth, but he's also totally centered on keeping you safe from this shit."

Vince tries to smile. "Keeping me safe from shit like you, huh?"

"Vin."

"OK," he says, rubbing Eric's leg before he pulls his hand back. "We should tell Ari, fine."

"We can wait," Eric says, apology in his voice. Vince looks over. "I mean, we've gotta meet with him next week anyway about the new thing."

"Nah, let's just do it," Vince says. "Together, though, right?"

"United front," Eric confirms. 

 

* * *

 

So they talk to Ari. After he stops yelling and making crude hand gestures and explaining in perfect Hollywood jargon exactly how fucked they'll be if they ever, ever, ever lay a hand on each other in public, he leaves to talk to Lloyd. Vince looks over at Eric, who looks like Vince feels, like he's been beaten up after school. "Well, that wasn't so bad, right?" Vince says.

"Yeah, he could've actually thrown us out the window," Eric says, but he manages a little smile.

Vince puts his hand on Eric's shoulder and squeezes. His fingers brush the nape of Eric's neck, and Vince knows that just a little further down there's a mark he made with his mouth last night, and that makes him feel a little giddy. "After this we ought to get lunch. And, uh, maybe tell Turtle."

Eric snorts. "I'm pretty sure he already knows. What with you being the loudest lay in Los Angeles."

Vince grins. "What can I say, you bring it out in me."

The office door bangs open, and Ari says, "Get your fucking hands off of him right now," and Vince flinches and snaps back. "If you guys want to keep going with the forbidden love thing, we're gonna need to work on your definition of sneaky. I'll get you a list of spy films. Nothing with Tom Cruise."

"Where've you been?" Eric asks, sitting forward.

"I got Vince a date."

Vince groans, and Eric says, "Hey, fuck you, Ari, if you- "

Ari holds up his hand. "The path of true love isn't unsmooth just for you, boys. If you're gonna be hitting the sheets with E, you've gotta be hitting the streets with someone a lot hotter and taller and with a way better rack. I got you a date with Leslee Cochran. Know her?"

Vince shrugs, but Eric nods. "We looked at her for the soundtrack," he says.

"That's right," he says, "that's right. She's just dropped her first major-label record, it's gonna be a huge hit. Soulful pop, something like that."

"And you rep her."

"We do, yes, we are a full-service agency."

Vince sits up. "I don't really need to be fixed up, Ari. I'm off the market, remember? That's why I'm here."

Eric glances over at him and smiles, and Vince grins back and barely stops himself from sliding a hand onto Eric's leg.

"See, this is what I'm talking about, this googly-eye shit right here. This is why you need a woman in your life," he says. He takes a seat on the armchair, sitting very close, and when he speaks again his voice is nearly a whisper. "My new girl happens to have a similarly troubling crush of her own."

"She's got a thing for E, too?" Vince asks, smirking, and Ari rolls his eyes.

"She, like you, is dating below her caste," Ari says. "She's got a thing for her publicist."

"So?"

"Try and keep up, E. Her female publicist."

Vince laughs. "Wait, you're sending me on a date with a lesbian?"

"Shhh," Ari says, looking around. "Baby, I am sending you on a date with a gorgeous woman who, I can guarantee for E's peace of mind, is not interested in your high-mileage cock." Ari sits back with his typical self-satisfied smirk. "Do you see the beauty of this?"

Vince glances at E, who shrugs. "I kind of do."

"Have your manager there give her people a call, then, unless you're quitting your day job to be a housewife forever, now, E."

"Fuck you," Eric says, and Ari smiles his bright slimy smile and stands up.

"You keep saying stuff like that, you're gonna make Vinnie jealous," he says, and then waves them out of his office. 

 

* * *

 

So Thursday afternoon, Vince meets Leslee for the first time at a little coffee shop. Eric stays in the car. She's a pretty girl, slim and tall and blonde, his usual type. Ari can pick 'em, he thinks, taking a seat across from her at the back of the store. They talk nervously, awkwardly, at first, but it turns out they know a few people in common beyond Ari, which makes things easier. When Vince asks about her publicist, Alyson, Leslee says, "She's the last person I want to talk to at night and the first I want to see in the morning, you know?"

Vince nods, because yeah. He knows. So she's pretty and she  _gets_  it and she's toying with her coffee cup in a really, strangely alluring way. If he wasn't and she wasn't, maybe they - he stops himself right there. He says, "So, unless I'm crazy, maybe we should go on a real date, huh?"

"You mean a real fake date?" He laughs. "I accept," she says, and shakes his hand. 

 

* * *

 

So they go to Il Sole on a Friday night, and they have a good time and they look, Vince is pretty sure, like they have a great time. He holds her hand on top of the table and she feeds him a bite of her dessert and it's all staged, perfect flirtation. Romantic comedy lesson 1. There's gossip up the next day, and two weeks later they get their picture in _People_ , holding hands on the red carpet outside a premiere; a week after that, Leslee, on Letterman to promote the album, blushes and smiles prettily and says, "He's a cool guy, we have a lot of fun," when she's asked about him.

"Your fake girlfriend is hot," Turtle says, passing over the blunt.

"Not a bad actress, either," Eric says. He's leaning against Vince's side, with Vince's arm comfortably around his shoulders. While they're at home, Vince gets to touch him as much as he wants. And he wants.

He exhales and hands the joint to Eric. "But it is all fake," he says. "She really likes Alyson."

"Bro, you've got a lesbian girlfriend," Johnny says, shaking his head. "You're living the dream life, man."

And that night in bed, when he's snuggled up to Eric, both of them still panting and sweaty, he says, "Johnny's right, I mean, isn't he?"

"New rule: never talk about Drama in bed, OK?"

Vince laughs and kisses Eric's shoulder. "I just mean, this is like a dream come true, isn't it? We get to be together and they get to be together and everyone's happy."

"Yeah," Eric says, rubbing his back. "Everyone's happy." 

 

* * *

 

So things go well for a year. Vince sees Leslee about once a week for nice public dates - dinners out, shopping in Beverly Hills, a few appearances at clubs. At first, they schedule everything carefully, planning dates around when and where they know they can be seen, but soon they're actually getting along and they just call each other up when they have free time. They hold hands and stand close to each other and flirt, and that stuff isn't so hard to do because it turns out she's a pretty cool girl. Vince likes her, likes the way that when she really thinks something's funny - like when Eric snaps at Turtle - she sometimes snorts in laughter, likes the way she's confident and calm around him and around the press. He also likes that dating Leslee casts a pall over his clubbing - not that he doesn't like hitting the clubs, but now, he's got a built-in excuse to hang at the table with Eric and ignore the girls who flutter by.

They get their picture taken again and again and land in all of the magazines and Ari and Shauna are practically purring over the whole thing. Over the summer, she goes on tour to support her album and he goes to the L.A. concert and then, at Eric's urging, flies out to see her in Texas. He shows up backstage with an armful of roses and surprises her in front of the documentary film crew that's taping the tour. They kiss for the cameras and later she brings him on stage and sings a ballad for him, and then they kiss again and it all gets broadcast on jumbo screens. After the concert, they hold hands on the way to the limo and for the ride up to her suite, where they untangle and lounge on the couch, watching TV, until Alyson comes in around 1 and the two girls go to bed together. Vince calls Eric and tries to get some phone sex, but Eric keeps laughing, which is somehow almost as nice. He falls asleep on the couch and wakes in the morning when Alyson walks through, topless, to get water from the mini-bar.

"Hey, uh, morning," he says, and she laughs and doesn't bother covering up.

"No Eric?" she asks.

"Nah, he's working out funding for this next film," Vince says, rubbing his face and looking away from Alyson. Man, he needs a shave.

Alyson pauses in the doorway. "Last night was good," she says, and when he raises an eyebrow she says, "I mean at the concert. That was good footage."

"E's idea," Vince says, shrugging. "But yeah, I thought it went well."

She nods. "You know, either you're a real good actor, or you think my girl is kind of hot."

"It's a little bit of both," he admits, and holds up his hands. "But don't worry, I'm taken, I wouldn't try anything."

She grins and it's an almost Ari-ish grin, vicious and amused at the same time. "I'm not worried. You aren't her type at all." She takes a drink of her water. "When we get back, let's all get together. We want to talk through some stuff."

Vince nods, then watches her walk back down the hall. She's a little shorter than Leslee, but curvier, too, in a good way. My girlfriend's girlfriend is hot, he thinks, then laughs and calls Eric, because that's the best way to start his day. 

 

* * *

 

"So you're saying - what, exactly?" Eric asks, leaning forward.

They're at dinner, the four of them, eating at a small Mexican place that Leslee likes. It's not a big Hollywood spot, but there's still a chance they'll be recognized, so Vince has his hand on the back of Leslee's chair and they're sitting close, Eric and Alyson across from them. It's always a little awkward to go out together, but so far tonight's gone well. Maybe because Vince is genuinely happy to see Leslee, who's only been back in town for a few days, since the end of her tour. They've been officially dating now for a little over a year, which is kind of hard to believe but also, really, not that hard to believe at all.

"We just think, it's been a year, things could be more - settled," Alyson says.

Vince glances over at Leslee. She smirks in a mine-can-so-take-yours way, and he grins back. He likes Alyson just fine, but she's nowhere near Eric's league if it comes to arguing. "So what, Aly, you want I should propose or something?" Vince asks, and is surprised when Alyson doesn't immediately laugh.

"Wait a second," Eric says, but Leslee leans in, closer to Vince but also closer to the other two.

"Just hear us out, OK?" she says. "Your movie is out in like two weeks. We haven't been seen together that much recently, it might be good to get a little more press. Plus, dating doesn't mean much, you know? But engagement - that can go on forever without anyone asking questions."

"Unless you never get married," Eric says, and Leslee shrugs.

"Then we give them the Brad and Angelina line, you're not getting married until all couples are able to," Alyson says.

Vince looks across at Eric. "Would that work?" he asks, and Eric shrugs, then nods. He's frowning a little - it's a business-like look. "Is it OK if we think on this, for a while?"

Leslee nods and touches his arm. Vince looks up and sees Eric watching her. "Call me, OK?"

He agrees. Vince kisses Leslee good-bye before they leave, then gets in the car with Eric, who isn't talking.

"You think I shouldn't do it," Vince says. Eric shrugs. "It's all make-believe anyway, E, what does it matter? Plus they're right, this would give us even better cover."

"Yeah, I know," he says. His voice is quiet, and Vince feels a little worried. But things between them have been going really well, and things with him and Leslee are easy, too. The family-friendly animated flick is coming out soon; her "soulful pop" is still racing up the charts. He doesn't want to mess this up by letting her get away.

That night, Vince shoos the other guys out of the house and corners Eric in the kitchen. "If you tell me not to, I won't," he says. "If it's going to upset you- "

"No," Eric says. "You should do it."

"E, you clearly - you don't really believe that," Vince says. "You're not OK with this."

"No, you know what I wouldn't be OK with?" Eric says. "I wouldn't be OK with us getting caught, and you losing your career."

"Hey- "

He shakes his head. "I won't be the thing that takes this away from you," he says. "I think that's, I mean, that seems like the only thing that could ruin what we've got. And I will do anything, everything, to protect you. To protect us. Anything that helps with that, I'm all for." He takes a deep breath but doesn't look up, and Vince wants to reach out but he's not sure he should. "So you should do it," he says.

"Really."

Eric nods and finally meets his eyes. He looks sad and scared but also, Vince has to admit, very certain. "I'll even help you pick out the ring," he says.

 


	2. Chapter 2

So he proposes very informally - a sort of  _here's your ring_  moment in his living room, with Eric there - and they make the cover of  _People_  this time, an impressive, glowing photo with Leslee wrapped in his arms. They see each other less for the next few months, but talk about each other more. When people ask about the two of them setting a date Vince brushes the question off and Leslee says they're waiting until they both have some down time to focus on the wedding, and after a while people sort of stop asking.

Vince goes to New York for Christmas for two weeks between films, and the first week it's just him and the guys. He and Eric debate endlessly whether they should come out to their families, and in the end, they decide against it, because though they both love their mothers, neither of them can see them keeping a secret like this for long. So they spend the first week sneaking time away from family just to hang out together, and during the second week Leslee comes out to meet everyone and there's no time at all. Leslee finally suggests they rent hotel rooms for New Year's Eve, ostensibly so they can party, and Vince and Eric lock the door to one of the two bedrooms in the suite and ring in the new year - their third together, Eric points out - in bed together.

When Vince gets up to get them both something to drink from the main room, he finds Leslee and Alyson - a New Yorker as well - making out on the couch, Alyson wearing a sparkling top hat. They break apart, giggling, and Vince shakes his head.

"Don't mind me," he says, opening the mini-fridge. He pulls out two bottles of water and a can of cashews.

"Oh, we don't," Alyson says, looking him up and down. He's wearing his boxer-briefs and nothing else and, really, has nothing to hide. He raises an eyebrow, and she grins.

"Hey, can you - oh, sorry," Eric says, stopping in the doorway. He's wearing his boxers and, very quickly, a blush.

"God, you are lick-ably adorable when you're all sexed up," Alyson says, and Eric crosses his arms and laughs. He really is terribly cute when he's embarrassed.

"You need something, E?"

"A Sprite, if they've got it."

Vince checks the fridge, hears Leslee say, "You know, I bet this isn't what the bellhop was thinking when the four of us headed up here."

"God I hope not," Eric and Alyson say in unison, and Vince laughs, Sprite in hand.

"C'mon," he says, walking toward Eric, "let's leave the ladies in peace."

"Not too much peace, I hope," Eric says, and Vince hears Alyson laugh before he closes the door.

"They're good together," Vince says, setting the snacks on the table.

"Yeah." Eric pops open the cashews and pours a few into his hand. "So are we."

Vince smiles. "Clearly I agree," he says. "See, I told you the engagement was a good idea."

Eric nods. He sits on the bed to drink his Sprite, and Vince settles in next to him, their thighs brushing. They hear a peal of laughter from the other room, and look at each other and grin. "OK," Eric says. "You were right." He holds up his soda. "Here's to another year."

"Cheers." 

 

* * *

 

So things are still good for a long while. The family loved Leslee and the press still thinks they're sweet together, even after the engagement enters its second year. Then Vince gets a call in the middle of the night. "Don't answer," Eric mutters, sitting up beside him.

"It's Leslee," Vince says, snapping open his phone. "Hello?"

She's sobbing on the other end, and it takes him a few minutes to get her calmed down enough to make sense. Eventually he gets the full story - an ex-boyfriend of hers has released a video of Leslee making out with another girl in a hotel, and he's telling people that Leslee always had a thing for girls. "My - my  _mother's_  going to see that," she says, still sniffling.

"Oh, Jesus, baby," Vince says. "It's gonna be OK."

"It's going to be everywhere online," she says. "Aly's already said she can't stay over anymore, probably not for a long time. She's thinking about quitting. People are going to hound me."

Which is exactly what Ari and Shauna say the next day, when Vince is called in to see them both. "This isn't what I expected to go wrong, but it's just about as bad," Ari says.

"Hey, you set this up," Eric says.

"So what can we do?" Vince asks.

"You've got two options," Shauna says. "One, you walk away. We get you some kind of on-location job starting immediately, and a few months from now you say distance messed everything up and that's the end. You're spared the scandal. Garden-variety escape."

Vince shakes his head. He thinks of Leslee's voice on the phone, how upset she was. He thinks about what he'd want if it was him, if Eric was going to quit. "What's option two?"

"It's the stand-by-your-lesbian option," Ari says. "People ask you questions, you say, so the fuck what, what do I care who she used to fuck so long as I know who she's doing now, and she says she was drunk, she was experimenting, etc. And you two-" he points between Vince and Eric "-- cool it completely and absolutely. No touching, no tender little stares, no feet brushing by accident under the goddamned table - in fact, I'd go so far as to suggest that E moves out and maybe your actual fucking fiancée moves in."

Vince drops his head into his hands, because that wasn't quite the answer he wanted, either. Eric, though, says, "It's a good idea."

Vince looks over at him. "Yeah?"

He nods. "I really should have my own place, anyway," he says. He clears his throat and looks away. "Also, I think you guys should set a date."

"I second that," Shauna says, and Vince looks up at Ari.

"If it were up to me, you'd have knocked her up by now," Ari says, and Vince sighs.

"You want me to marry a girl I don't even love just for good cover?"

"No," Ari says, "I want you to run screaming from this entire scandal, particularly knowing that we don't yet have an offer on the table from Spielberg's people. I want you to stop fucking the dwarf here and move back to women, and I want you to pick one with boobs you can see from space and fuck her senseless in not one but two direct-to-Internet sex tapes the likes of which would make Rob Lowe's publicist blush. But barring that," Ari says, and pauses for what seems like his first breath in decades, "yes, I think you should marry your incredibly hot gay girlfriend in some kind of televised wedding-of-a-lifetime event, preferably during prime time, and then let me sell the rights to set up a college fund for your future African orphan children."

Vince rubs his own neck. Marriage. It's starting to feel real, suddenly; he looks at Eric and sees he's still looking down and away and then Vince looks back at Shauna. "What if we just keep going like we are?"

She shrugs. "Someone's going to ask why the long engagement. And someone else is going to put two and two together, and then her scandal becomes our scandal."

"And we don't want that," Eric says. "I mean, I don't."

"Yeah," Vince agrees, after a moment. They've worked so hard to get this Spielberg thing set up. It's going to be his biggest break yet. How much different can it really be, to play married instead of playing engaged? "I don't, either."

Shauna nods. "I'm meeting with her publicist this afternoon."

"Aly?"

"A new guy," she says, and Vince glances at Eric. He looks stricken. "I'll call after, we'll talk."

On the drive home, Vince says, "Look, whatever happens, we're still the same, right? I mean, you and me, we're fine."

"Yeah," Eric says, staring straight ahead.

Vince touches his shoulder. "I would never let you quit," he says, and Eric smiles.

"I would never let anyone videotape us," he says, and Vince smiles back. 

 

* * *

 

So three years after they met, they get married. It's a small outdoor ceremony but very fancy, and because it would totally fucking freak Vince out to have Eric standing next to him he has Johnny as his best man. Vince's mother cries; so does Leslee. Afterwards they have a dinner and reception in the ballroom at the Ritz-Carlton, which has been done over in three shades of pink. "Jesus, this almost makes me gay," Ari whispers, and Vince chokes on his champagne.

Leslee looks breathtaking in a dress so rare and expensive that Vince is almost afraid to touch it. It's smooth and silky under his fingers as they dance their first dance, and something about being alone with her on the dance floor, all their friends and family looking on, makes him get that dread-filled  _it's all real_  feeling again in his stomach. He covers by ducking his head and pressing his cheek to her hair, and she lifts his hand from where they're entwined on his chest and kisses it very gently. "Thank you," she murmurs, and he says the same thing back. He looks up and sees Eric standing at the edge of the crowd, watching him, and then he closes his eyes.

They dance and drink until around two, at which point Vince carries his new bride to the elevators and then across the threshold of the honeymoon suite. They fall laughing to the couch and then she says, "This was the perfect wedding. You know? It's everything I ever thought I wanted, when I was a little girl. Movie star husband, beautiful ceremony, gorgeous dress, glamorous ring- " she holds up her hand and he takes it, looking down at the 5-carat diamond Eric helped him pick out.

"I know," he says, hearing the  _but_  at the end of her sentence.

She nods and sits up and they embrace, and when she pulls back they kiss, on the mouth, the first time they've ever done that in a room without cameras. He's a little surprised, and he can tell she is, too; when she draws back, they both blush and laugh, and Vince says, "You know, when I was a kid, I don't think I ever thought about a wedding except for the wedding night. And I can tell you, this isn't exactly how I thought that would go."

She laughs. They've agreed they need to stay in the same suite, alone, tonight; nothing would fan the scandal flames faster than seeing Alyson or Eric sneaking out of the bridal suite. "At least you don't have to stay on the couch," she says, without suggestion.

He nods. They've been living together for a few months, now, ever since the wedding planning got going in earnest. Things are comfortable enough between them that this won't be the first time they've crashed in the same bed, and he's glad she's made the offer. It would look pretty bad if anyone from housekeeping found him in the living room, anyway. "Thanks," he says. "I'll be in in a minute."

Once she's gone, he flips open his phone and speed-dials Eric. He should be crashed out in his own suite, by now - all the wedding guests are staying at the hotel. Turtle answers. "He's kind of busy."

Vince feels a little flicker of alarm. "What? What's he doing?"

"He's getting fucked up," Turtle says. "Or, I guess, he was getting fucked up, and now he's puking all over Drama's bathroom."

"Is he all right?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Just needs some water and to get his ass to bed."

Vince rubs his forehead. He barely had time to talk to Eric today, and Eric seemed to be keeping his distance. He figured it was because of all the cameras around, but maybe it's more. "Should I come down there?" he asks.

"Uh, Vin, I think the whole point of this thing might be ruined if you're down here," Turtle says. "Shouldn't you and the missus be spending some quality time together?"

"Just is he OK or not?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's probably not the easiest day in the world, seeing your guy get married to someone else. You know?"

Vince swallows. Does he know? "Tell him I called," he says, because there's nothing else he can do.

When he crawls into bed, Leslee is already there, wearing a tank top and boy-short panties and flipping through channels on the TV. Vince stretches out on his back and stares at the ceiling, thinking about Eric, a few floors down, sick and miserable. His stomach aches.

Leslee turns off the TV and looks down at him. "So, dear, you ready for bed?"

"Yeah," he says. He manages a smile for her, and she pats his chest in a friendly way before she turns out the light. It takes him forever to fall asleep.

The next morning they leave for their honeymoon, a week in Italy culminating in a stay at the Hotel Cipriani in Venice. He spends the days playing happy newlywed with Leslee as they tour the countryside and, eventually, Venice, and he spends his nights not sleeping well, trying to calculate the time difference to figure out what Eric might be doing. He can see the trip is wearing on Leslee, too; when they walk through the airport to catch their flight home, her hand is limp in his, and her smile is starting to look edgy and tired. "Hey, relax," he says, putting his arm around her waist as they wait to board.

"Are there cameras?" she whispers.

"No," he says, "you just look exhausted."

"I am," she admits. "This acting thing is hard work."

He smiles and kisses her forehead. "You're doing great at it, though."

"Does it get easier?"

"Some of it," he says.

In L.A., he calls Eric the minute they hit the ground. He's so jet-lagged his words sound slurred, but Eric must understand because he's waiting at the house when they pull in. "Hey, welcome back," he says, and Leslee hugs him.

"God, did he miss you," she says, and Vince laughs, still hanging back. He's nervous, for some reason, worried that Eric's mad or still upset from the wedding.

But once they're all inside and Leslee's excused herself to call Alyson, Eric says, "Christ, I'm glad to see you," and kisses him like no time has passed at all.

Thank God, Vince thinks, kissing him back. Eric's face is scratchy; he's got a bit of beard. "What's with this?" Vince asks, kissing his neck and feeling the burn against his lips. "I leave for a week and you turn into a werewolf."

"Who shaves on vacation, right?"

"Excuses, excuses," Vince says. "You letting yourself go just because I take a little trip?"

"A little trip down the aisle," Eric says, but his hands are already pulling Vince's shirt loose.

Vince decides not to press. "I really did miss you," Vince says, and Eric nods and his hands pause on Vince's chest. Vince takes his hands, kisses them, leads Eric to his bedroom. An hour later, they hear the front door open and shut, and then Alyson's voice in the hall. "The honeymoon's over, I guess," Vince says, and Eric laughs and kisses him again. 

 

* * *

 

So things go OK for a while. Vince wins his Oscar for the Spielberg movie the next year, the same year that Leslee gets three Grammy awards for her multi-platinum sophomore album,  _Civilization_. They thank each other lovingly in their speeches, and to celebrate, Vince takes Leslee on a trip to Greece, and Leslee buys him a Bentley (he learned to drive for the Spielberg picture). The trip goes well except Eric gets twitchy about the press and won't stay in Vince's room and won't let Alyson stay with Leslee. When they get home, Vince goes to Eric's place for the night and Alyson stays at the house with Leslee.

"I think something's up with them," Eric says after dinner. They're sitting in Eric's living room, sipping beers and watching TV.

"Like what?"

Eric shrugs. "Aly seemed kind of weird, don't you think?"

"I don't know," Vince says. "You seemed kind of weird."

Eric looks over. "What?"

"With the whole there-could-be-cameras thing? I mean, come on, no one even recognized us on that island."

"So you think," Eric says. "You want to blow everything now?"

Vince rolls his eyes. "There are a hundred good reasons my manager might be in my hotel room. No, a thousand, and that's not even counting the sex reasons."

"Right," Eric says. "But all it takes is one photo, one slip, and then none of this matters."

"That's bullshit. Who the fuck even cares," Vince says.

Eric rolls his eyes. He sets his beer on the coffee table with a solid, angry thunk. "You wanna explain the fake wedding to your mom, maybe?" he asks. "Return your gifts from the shower?"

"I'm saying, people basically see what they expect to see, E." Vince feels his frustration rising, but he tries to tamp it down, to be reasonable. "And most people just see that I've been married for two full years to a fucking hot girl and I hang out with my friends sometimes. No one thinks- "

"People see what they  _want_  to see," Eric says. "And you two, you're on top of the world right now, so you know what people want? They want to see you fall. They want a fucking scandal, and you're getting too lax, you're gonna give it all away."

Eric's standing, now, and Vince has his arms crossed. This is not the easy, romantic night he had planned. "I'm gonna give us away? I'm fucking performing my heart out, every fucking day," Vince snaps. "I spend all my time trying to make this look real. I'm on every fucking minute. I work hard, and when I want to relax you say no."

"Yeah, poor you, have to spend all your time getting married to beautiful women," Eric says. "How horrible."

"Do you think I want this?" Vince asks. His chest feels tight with anger and something else, some darker emotion. "Do you think- "

"I think you spend every day playing house and I spend every goddamned minute watching you do it, and every fucking night going home alone," Eric says. "I think you get to kiss and coo for the cameras while I stand by with my hands in my pockets, trying not to strangle everyone around me who says aren't they just perfect for each other. I think you're basically living your dream, Vince, getting the girl and the guy at the same time."

"You  _know_ ," Vince says, his voice sounding absolutely savage in his own ears, "you know there's nothing going on with Leslee and me." Eric shrugs and doesn't say anything, and Vince laughs in disbelief. "Jesus Christ," he says. He stands up and walks away from Eric, carries his beer bottle in to the kitchen and sets it by the sink, then braces himself there. After all this time, if Eric really thinks - he can't even finish the thought. What the fuck have they been doing, if Eric doesn't trust him?

Eric comes in after a few minutes and says his name, but Vince doesn't turn. When his hand lands on Vince's arm, Vince shakes him off. "Come on," Eric groans.

"Come on  _what_ , E?" Vince asks, turning to face him. He's so angry that his stomach hurts. "You're supposed to be the person who gets this," Vince says. "You're supposed to- "

"I'm supposed to, what, like the way things are?" Eric asks. "I don't. I haven't ever."

"You told me- "

"Yeah, as your manager, I told you," Eric says. "But if you think as your boyfriend I'm OK with watching you and her together, Christ, Vince. It makes me fucking sick."

"There's nothing going on," Vince mutters.

Eric snorts. "You know what, you're a good actor, but you're not that good," he says.

They just stand there, for a moment, Eric staring at the floor, Vince staring at the top of Eric's head, not sure if he wants to strangle him or embrace him. "Maybe I should go," Vince says.

"Yeah," Eric says. He sounds tired and still a little pissed. "Yeah, fine. I'll see you later."

They don't kiss at the door, and Vince gets angrier as he drives home. At the house, he finds Leslee sitting by the pool, alone, with a bottle of scotch.

"You wanna share?" he asks, taking a seat, and she passes the bottle over companionably.

"You're home early," she says, and Vince nods and takes a drink.

"Relationships," he says, shaking his head.

Leslee laughs. "Tell me about it."

They get a little drunk and they complain about their pain-in-the-ass, just-don't-get-it partners for a few hours, and then they walk inside to go to bed. Leslee offers her cheek for their usual casual good-night kiss, and Vince cups her neck, kisses her mouth. She rubs her fingers through his hair and down to his neck and returns the kiss, and they find their way to the master bedroom that neither of them uses and he doesn't start to feel bad until after he's inside of her. Then he gets that  _it's real_  feeling again, only a hundred times worse, and he chokes and pulls away. He rolls onto his back, panting, hardly able to breathe, his erection flagging, and Leslee sits up over him.

"Vince?"

"Jesus Christ," Vince says, cupping his hands over his mouth. He smells like Leslee. All he can think about is Eric and all the shit Vince has put him through and how he is never going to be forgiven for this. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

"Hey," she says, and tugs on his wrist until he lowers his hands. "It's OK. No one knows but us." He meets her eyes, and when she nods, as if confirming she'll never tell anyone, he feels a little better. Not a whole lot, though. He closes his eyes and hears Leslee shifting next to him, and when she sits back beside him she has her shirt back on. They sit quietly for a minute, Vince waiting for his heart to stop pounding before he moves.

"Are you going to tell him?" she asks.

Vince shakes his head. "No way," he says. "He's been through enough, and - there's not really anything to tell, right?" He looks up, and she nods. "Plus it would just make things really weird." He sits up. "You gonna tell Aly?"

"No, I don't think so," she says. "She wouldn't take it very well, and we've got enough problems. When I left things weren't exactly warm and cuddly between us." The way she sighs makes Vince feel bad for her, again, brings back the sympathy that got them here in the first place. He gets up, finds his shorts, and pulls them on, then looks down at her, suddenly embarrassed.

"You're - OK, right?" he asks, and she blinks, then laughs.

"Honey, I wasn't a virgin," she says. "You know, it's a good thing you - when you did." Vince can feel himself blushing, but he tips his head, wondering why. "We should have used a condom."

"I'm clean," he says, and she shakes her head.

"I'm a girl," she reminds him, and he suddenly gets it.

"Oh, Jesus," he says, and laughs, because there's nothing else to do. "I guess that would have tripped some alarms for E and Aly, huh?"

"Just a few," she says. She climbs out of the bed, too, and follows him to the hall, closes the door behind them. They part at the door, both headed to their respective rooms. They don't kiss. "Good-night, Vince."

"Night," he says.

Upstairs, he takes a shower before he gets in his own bed. He plugs in his phone and considers calling Eric, but he knows that would just look suspicious at this point. So he turns the phone off, rolls over, and snuggles up to the pillow Eric uses when he stays over. He tries to remind himself that everything is going to be OK. It always is.

The next day he wakes up and checks his phone for missed calls; there's one from Eric, and Vince listens to it without getting out of bed. "Hey, call me back," Eric says, and then there's a pause, and he says, "Listen, I'm sorry about last night. I - it was stupid of me to say that. I trust you, I know there's nothing going on." He takes a deep breath on the message at the same time Vince takes one in real life. "OK. I love you. Call me back."

Eric never says I love you over the phone. Vince returns the call without even thinking. "Hey," Eric answers, sounding sleepy and wary and, in a painful way, happy to hear from him. "You're up early."

"I love you, too," Vince says, and he rests his head in his hand as he talks. "I don't ever want to fight with you."

"Me, either," Eric says. "Christ, Vin - after you left, I was going crazy."

"Let's just - I don't want to talk about it," Vince says, his own reaction to their fight coming back to him in full color, the guilt twisting his stomach. "I want to see you," he says.

"You have the costume-fitting - "

"Cancel it," Vince says. "You and me time."

"Yeah. OK," Eric says. "I can be there in a little bit."

Vince starts to say yes, sure, and then he thinks of the tousled sheets in the master bedroom, thinks of having to be in the same room with Eric and Leslee this morning, and doesn't want to risk it. He says, "How about I pick you up, instead?"

They have a quiet lunch, then they go shopping, and Vince buys Eric a very expensive watch. Eric doesn't protest once Vince says, "I just want - it would mean something to me, to see you wearing it."

Eric puts it on in the car, and then drives them back to his place. The minute the door closes, Vince is on him, his hands on Eric's face and then running through his hair. In under three minutes they're in Eric's bed, and the only thing Eric's wearing is the new watch; the only thing on Vince is his wedding ring. "Wait," he says, and pulls the ring off and drops it on the bedside table. Eric grabs his hand, sucks his ring finger into his mouth, his tongue working the groove where the ring usually rests.

"Fuck," Vince groans, and Eric smiles and pulls back.

"That's the idea," he says, rolling them over.

Vince slides his legs apart so Eric can settle between them, then rubs his back. "I want to stay here tonight," Vince says, his mouth against Eric's.

"Yeah," Eric says.

"And tomorrow."

"OK."

Eric lets him cancel on lunch with Leslee the next day, too, and they stay at Eric's, lounging on the couch, watching TV, just hanging out, just being together. Vince doesn't have to pretend he's in love with his wife for a full day and Eric doesn't have to ignore Vince's pretending, and it feels wonderful. It reminds Vince of exactly why they go through all the rest of this stuff. He stays another night, falls asleep in Eric's arms, and wishes it were always like this.

The next night, he puts his ring in his pocket and kisses Eric good-bye and goes back to his wife. When he walks inside, Leslee's at the island in the kitchen, making a sandwich, and she smiles at him. "Hey," she says. He nods. "You eat yet? I can make one without cheese."

Vince feels suddenly like he might cry, like his heart might break. This is his real life. This is his every day. He's married, he's got a wife. He slides the ring back on in his pocket, expects it to be tight or cause pain, but it's the same good fit as always. He manages to shake his head.

"Everything OK with you and E?" she asks.

"Everything's fine," he says. "You guys OK?"

She shrugs. "Same as always." She picks up the sandwich and takes a bite, and her wedding ring glints back at him. "You look like shit."

"Yeah, I feel it," he says, and rubs his hand across his mouth. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

"Vince," she says, and he turns at the door to face her. "Is it - the thing the other night, we're OK, right?"

He nods. "We're fine," he says. "Happily married, right?"

She smirks. "Like always." 

 

* * *

 

So things between them all go back to being good, mostly, except now Vince is aware, all the time, of how weird things are. He tries hard to be more considerate of Eric's feelings, tries to back off from Leslee when Eric's around, even if there are cameras present. Fuck them, he figures; the point of being married was that they wouldn't have to be on each other all the time just so people would believe they're a couple. And Eric schedules in more time for the two of them to be together and eases up on his don't look, don't touch policy in public, so that Vince can occasionally now put a hand on his shoulder when they're waiting for the car or have Eric in his trailer on set past midnight. The world doesn't end, the sky doesn't rain down, at least not for them.

Leslee and Alyson don't fare so well. Whatever they fought about after the return from Greece - a collection of things, as far as Vince can tell, some new issues, some very old - continues to wear on them throughout the spring. Vince and Eric are making out in the kitchen one afternoon when Leslee comes home. Vince, shirtless, pulls back as she walks in, ready to make a joke, but it dies on his lips when he sees she's been crying.

"Hey," he says, starting to step back from Eric, but Leslee waves her hand as if to say, keep going. She smiles but he can tell her heart isn't in it.

"Please, someone in this marriage should be getting some." She gives him a teasing swat on the ass as she walks to the fridge. She's wearing flat shoes and a skirt and tights, which show off her nice legs; she's been working out a lot recently, preparing for her new stage show, and Vince has been meaning to tell her he's noticed. Now, of course, doesn't seem like the time.

Eric hops down from the counter; he's blushing from the neck up. "You OK, Les?" he asks, one of his hands centered on Vince's chest.

"Yeah, fine," she says, wiping her face. "You kids keep it up. I think I'm gonna hit the clubs tonight."

"Yeah?" Vince asks. He exchanges a glance with Eric. "You want company?"

"No, it's all right," she says. She takes two hard swallows from her beer. "Don't worry, guys, I promise I'll be good. I'll get Katie to go with me or something. We won't cause a scene."

"Leslee," Vince says, putting his hand on her shoulder, and she nods.

"I'm fine," she says. "Aly and I - it's a rough patch. We'll be OK." She smiles. "But, listen, don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather not be hanging out with your lovey dovey asses tonight. All right?" She kisses Vince's cheek, then Eric's. "You might want to move the show into the bedroom before my car gets here."

Eric stays over, and in the middle of the night they wake up to hear Leslee and Alyson yelling at each other down the hall. Vince sits up, but Eric grabs his arm.

"I think it's probably better if you sit this one out," he says. Down the hall, he hears Alyson yell, "You never motherfucking  _try_ to understand!"

There's something terribly frightening about hearing them argue; Vince can see Eric is worried, too, and he puts an arm around his chest as they settle back to bed.

"It's like hearing my mom and dad fight," Eric says, rubbing Vince's back.

"Only I wasn't married to your mom," Vince says, and Eric snickers. Things get quiet outside, and though that makes Vince more nervous at first, Eric points out that it could be a good sign and they both go back to sleep.

But the next morning, Leslee's eyes are red and puffy at breakfast and when Vince asks what happened last night, she says, "Aly and I - I think we just broke up," she says.

"Shit," Vince says. "Jesus. For good?"

She shrugs again, fumbling with a jar of strawberry jam. Eric takes the jam, and while he's working to get it open, she steps forward and puts her arms around his waist and her head on his shoulder, even though she's a little bit taller than he is. Eric glances over at Vince, then sets the jam down and embraces her. "It's OK," he says, rubbing her back. Her shoulders are shaking. Vince slides in next to Eric and strokes Leslee's hair.

"Honey," he says, softly, "what happened?"

She draws back from Eric, though he keeps a hand on her waist. "We've just - it's been nothing but fighting for the last few months, since - since we came back from Greece," she says, and Vince's stomach flips. Leslee looks up at him and shakes her head, just once, almost imperceptibly, and he feels relieved and guilty that whatever's happened, it's not because of their one post-trip screw up. "Anyway. It just - it's all been too much. For her, for me."

The more she explains, the less Vince really understands what's happened - it all sounds very vague and sad and terrible, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask why they can't just work it out. Then again, his experience of break-ups has mostly been second-hand, and then it's always been event-oriented: someone cheating on someone else, for instance.

Eric says, "Sometimes people just grow apart," and Vince feels stricken. He looks across Leslee's head at Eric, who gives him a sad, tender frown. "You're gonna be OK, though. All right? We're gonna get you through this just fine."

And they try. When she wants to be alone, they leave her alone; when she comes out the next afternoon looking for company, Eric calls for pizza and Vince lets her win at virtual tennis on the Wii. Aly comes by to get her stuff, and she looks just as miserable as Leslee, who's at the gym, avoiding the whole scene. Once she's gone, Vince finds Eric in the kitchen, mixing a pitcher of margaritas, and he puts his arms around him from behind and rests his head on Eric's.

"I'm not going anywhere," Eric says, rubbing Vince's arm, and Vince finally nods and backs away.

Things are a little trickier for a while, because not only is Vince still trying not to be over-touchy with Leslee in front of Eric, he tries to cool it with Eric in front of Leslee, figuring that someone who's feeling lonely probably doesn't want to have her face rubbed in his ongoing romance.

In fact, after a month, when Leslee's finally starting to perk up a little, it occurs to Vince that things have suddenly become very tricky. His wife is effectively single, and it's not like she can just walk up to another girl and say, pleased to meet you, wanna go out sometime? Over dinner one night, while Eric's off at some meeting with Ari (business is suddenly crazy, arranging a new picture for Vince and another for Eric to produce on his own), Vince says, "Can I ask you something weird?"

Leslee looks up from her carton of Thai take out. "Sure."

"Do you want a divorce?"

"What?"

"I mean - I recognize, like, this is really only benefiting me, now," he says. "It's got to be hard to meet someone, when you're, uh, married."

She smirks. "Yeah, I thought about that." He keeps focused on her. She shrugs. "At least with you, I can talk about it. And - I don't know. Right now, that's about what I want." He nods. "Why, do you think we should split up?"

"No," he says. "I'd miss you."

She smiles and taps his cheek, gently. "That's sweet," she says. "I'd miss you, too. Plus, I don't know. We're pretty comfortable, right? I don't mind being cover for you guys. And I should be focused on my tour right now, anyway. Getting involved with anyone else would be professional suicide at this point."

"That sounds like Ari talking," Vince says, and Leslee laughs.

"Ari would rather push me off a cliff than see us get divorced," she says.

"I just don't want - I feel kind of selfish, using you for cover," Vince says, and Leslee shakes her head.

She leans forward and kisses his cheek. "It's only selfish if you're the only one benefiting. And honey, right now, I need people who understand around me as much as anything. OK?"

"OK," he agrees.

They leave it at that. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

So Leslee meets another girl on her tour, this one a pretty dancer, and after she signs a hundred pages of confidentiality agreements, they start seeing each other. Vince isn't clear on whether the girl knows that he knows - the few times he sees her, she looks embarrassed and vaguely afraid, and he doesn't do anything to discourage that. She seems like a nice enough girl, but he agrees with Eric when he says she's a rebounder. She lasts about three months, and the breakup is much less painful: they make it through with a week's supply of ice cream and chamomile tea.

Shortly after that, they throw a big party to celebrate their five-year anniversary. Really, it's just an excuse to show off their new house, a five-bedroom, seven-bath place in Beverly Hills that has a gorgeous indoor/outdoor pool and a half-acre of very private gardens. They again make the cover of  _People_ , under the headline  _Hollywood Fairytale!_  and Vince gets it framed as a little joke and hangs it in the master bedroom which, in this house, Leslee gives to him.

People start asking him about children, which he brushes off. The thing is, kids are where he draws the line. Fake love story, fake physical affection, fine - they're adults, they can handle the consequences. But he's not bringing kids into the picture, not for headlines, not to make people believe them. He and Leslee have an awkward conversation about it just after her 33rd birthday, and afterward, Vince goes to Eric's place.

"I think she wants to have kids," Vince says. "I mean, my kids."

Eric tips his chair back. They're sitting at the kitchen table, drinking beer and eating from a bag of potato chips Eric found in his pantry. "What'd you say?" he asks.

"I said no." Vince washes a chip down with another gulp of beer. "It's weird. I can't even tell you exactly why, because - I mean, I want kids, someday, I think, and I like Leslee, I respect her, you know, I think she'd be a great mom. And of all the people we know, she'd be the one who would understand, like, she gets us," he says, and he looks up at Eric. Eric has on the careful, blank face he gets when he's trying very hard to listen and not just jump in. "But kids would make it pretty fucking real."

"Vince, you're married to her," Eric says. "It doesn't get a lot more real than that."

"You know what I mean," Vince says. "Right now, if things fall apart or we get caught or whatever - we're all grown ups, we get the risks, right? But with kids - with kids, we could really fuck them up. Or, even if we didn't, someday I think I'd have to explain things to them, you know, tell some kind of Daddy doesn't really love Mommy tale or some shit like that. I don't think that's real fair to them. Or us."

Eric nods. He still looks like he's holding back, though, so Vince says, "OK, come on, E, what? What are you thinking, you think I should have said yes or something?"

"No," he says, and he shakes his head and laughs. "Jesus Christ, no, I'm so glad you didn't."

"You thought I would, huh?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I knew she was going to ask, though. I figured that was coming. And I figured it wasn't a good idea, for all the reasons you were talking about, I mean, that could mess a kid up, destroy your image, too. But I thought maybe- "

"Hey, I'd talk to you first," Vince says. "All right?"

Eric nods. "You better talk to me, before you go knock up your wife."

Vince laughs. "First on my speed dial." 

 

* * *

 

So they don't have kids but they do stay together, and pretty soon it's Vince's fortieth birthday. Leslee - with considerable, if invisible, help from Eric - throws him a huge birthday party in New York, dinner, dancing, the works. She wears a glittery, almost see-through dress and he has a tailored smoking jacket and they get their pictures taken by an entire phalanx of paparazzi coming and going from the restaurant and club. Afterwards, they have a suite rented at the top of the Ritz-Carlton, and Eric is waiting in the bedroom with a forty-year-old bottle of scotch.

"For me?" Vince says, untying the ribbon from around the bottle.

"Only the best," Eric says. He's wearing a beautiful pale blue button-down shirt that Vince suddenly can't wait to peel from his shoulders. "But if you drink too much of that tonight, you won't get your other present."

"It's waited forty years," Vince says, setting the bottle on the bedside stand. He starts immediately on Eric's buttons, then draws him close for a kiss. "It can wait another day."

The next day, under the premise of scouting a location, Vince, Eric, and the guys fly to Ireland without Leslee and tour the countryside in a small car, Johnny doing most of the driving while Eric snarks from the passenger's seat. They eat things Vince has never even heard of and get lost every day and drunk every night and it's the best vacation Vince has ever had. They stay in small hotels where no one seems to know or care who he is, and the one time Vince is stopped for an autograph the girl turns out to be a bigger fan of Leslee's than his. On their last day in the country they go for a hike on some crazy rural rock formation that Johnny's been talking about non-stop, and Vince holds Eric back and they spend a half-hour making out behind a boulder. It's the first time Vince has ever kissed Eric in the light of day.

"This is the best vacation I've ever had," Vince says, sitting against the rock, Eric's head resting against his shoulder. He rubs his fingers gently over Eric's hair, and Eric pats his knee. His hand stays snagged there, on the inside of Vince's leg.

"Well, we'll do it again when you're eighty," he says, and Vince laughs.

"I'll hold you to that," he says, kissing the side of Eric's head. They stay there until the guys return, and it's the happiest Vince can remember being. 

 

* * *

 

So when they get home, Leslee suggests to Vince that they have dinner, just the two of them. "It'll be like date night," she says, "only - married night."

He laughs and agrees, and they order Chinese and set it up by the pool. Over moo shoo pork, she tells him she's met someone. "A man," she says, and Vince raises an eyebrow. "A married man," she continues. "Mark Dwyer. He worked on the tour video."

"Yeah," Vince says, nodding. He knows Dwyer tangentially - Johnny auditioned for his company recently, for some reality-like programming he was doing for VH1. His wife is the lead talent on a critically acclaimed Showtime drama. "You guys are dating?"

She shrugs. "We'll see how it goes," she says. She takes another bite, then a drink. There's a pretty flush of heat in her face, and it makes Vince feel a little cold in his stomach. "But - I like him."

Vince smiles. "Hey, I think it's great," he says. "I just want you to be happy."

Leslee and her new man get serious fast. She and Vince have a few more "married nights," where they talk about the new guy and her new album, which she's in the process of collecting songs for, and about his plans to film in Australia for three months next year. Mark's wife holds a controlling interest in their shared production company, and so he's afraid to leave her and lose everything he has. Vince, naturally, can sympathize. She seems happy, and Vince is happy for her. It's hard to imagine a better set up - though he finds himself wishing Mark was a woman. To not be the number one guy in Leslee's life feels, somehow, very strange.

A few months later, they have a married night on Valentine's Day, because it would look weird if either of them was caught out without the other. After dinner, he gives her a cheesy box of chocolates as a gift and she gives him a bottle of lube with a bow on top. "Now that's sweet," he says, tucking it into his pocket.

"It's really for your guy," she says, grinning, her teeth snow-white and as perfect as every magazine shot. She really is a beautiful girl.

"Speaking of our guys, how's Mark?" Vince asks, sitting back.

Leslee smiles and says, "Actually, things are going well. Really well."

"Yeah?" Vince sips his wine. "I don't suppose I get to meet him any time soon."

She shrugs. "I don't know. I guess that would be weird, huh?" She toys with her own wine glass. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Um. Truth is, things are going - like  _really_  well." She meets his eyes. "He's leaving his wife."

"Really? Honey, that's great," Vince says, and then, as she keeps looking at him, he gets it. "Oh," he says, and Leslee nods. "You want that divorce, now."

"I - we want - we've been talking about starting a family."

"Of course," Vince says. "You should. I mean. Les, you deserve this." He tries to smile, but he's still feeling too - something. Shocked. Surprised. Off-balance.

"Vince," she says, quietly, and he's surprised to see tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I - you know I love you, you know- "

"Hey, baby, it's OK," he says, stopping her short. He puts down his glass and reaches for her hand, squeezes it. "We knew this couldn't be forever, right?"

She shrugs. "Sometimes I felt like it could be," she says. "I do, I really love you, and Eric. You're like my family. I don't know, honestly, how it's going to work, to be away from you."

"We'll be OK," he says. "We'll figure it out. People get divorced and stay friends all the time." He smiles even though he can guess this won't be true. Things will be too weird. Their circle of friends will close up around them, they'll stop seeing each other. Things are going to get enormously more complicated soon. He swallows and draws back, finishes his wine. "Uh, do you - maybe we should talk to Ari tomorrow, you think? Before we make anything official. He might - I mean, I don't know what your plan was - "

"I'm not in a terrible rush," she says. "I've been thinking about it, you know, it might be good to 'separate,'" and here she uses finger quotes and looks away, again, "before my tour."

Vince nods. "Sounds reasonable." He tries to smile, and this time, he thinks he succeeds. "I bet Ari's already got a contingency plan."

"Undoubtedly."

And she's right, he does. They meet with him the next day for about an hour in the morning, just Vince and Leslee and Ari and Shauna, who became Leslee's publicist when they got married. "But now you're gonna have to find one of your own," she says, looking at Leslee, who's blushing.

"Hey, be nice," Vince says.

"I'll help you," Shauna says, "I think Mac Conoco has a good shop right now."

"She's right, though, we gotta start thinking about how you're going to divide things up," Ari says, and Vince rubs his temples. "You guys have good lawyers? Vin, I know you're set, E's been on top of this since day one. Where the fuck is he, by the way?"

The truth is, Vince hasn't called Eric yet, because he wanted to have this meeting first. "He had something else going this morning," Vince says, careful to meet Ari's eyes so it doesn't look like a lie. "But is it going to be that big of a deal? I mean, we had a pretty good prenup and all of that."

"And I don't want anything," Leslee says, shrugging. "I mean, I know I'm going to look like the bad guy, here, anyway."

"You're not the bad guy," Vince says, rubbing her shoulder, and Ari yelps.

"None of that," he says. "Look, you're getting divorce, at least act like it. If you guys stay the best of friends, what does that say for the whole thing?"

Vince rolls his eyes. "Jesus, I'm sick of this," he says. "We just, look, we only came here so you could help us figure out how to announce things, when that would be best."

"Right now," Shauna says. "As soon as possible. Get it out of the way before you start your tour and before you leave for Australia. That way all the legal stuff happens when you're living apart anyway, it seems less climatic when you move your stuff out. Or, wait, who gets the house?"

They look at each other and shrug. "You can have it," Leslee says, tentatively, and Vince shakes his head. "No, really, Mark has a place."

"You'll need room for the kids," Vince says, and Ari gasps and throws up his hands.

"You  _cannot fucking be pregnant_ ," he shouts, and Vince looks around to see if anyone outside has heard him.

"I could be," she says, and Vince looks over to see if she's serious. Her mouth turns up in a smirk. "But I'm not, don't worry."

"Jesus. OK. OK. We should - there's more to think about than the timing of the announcement," Ari says. "If you're leaving my man for another man, you've gotta know how that looks. You're gonna get slaughtered in the press. Paparazzi camping outside your door, girls clawing you in the street. Now, if you manage to wait for things to go public with this other guy until after the ink's dry, or at least until after the separation is off the cover of People- "

"-Where it will be next week," Shauna says, and Vince groans.

"-Say, January, then, you may yet survive," Ari finishes.

"A year?" Leslee's looking right at him with such a beautiful, fearless expression that Vince is reminded of Eric. "No way. We're gonna do what feels right," she says. "I'm sick of putting my life on hold all the time. I mean - if you're worried about the hit I'm gonna take, that's fine, I'll take whatever. I just don't want any of this to mess things up for Vince and E."

"They're gonna be fine," Ari says. "Dennis Quaid got more movie deals signed in the year after Meg Ryan left him than he'd seen in the last five before that. So we're set."

They talk a little more about specifics, and Shauna promises to draft a pretty standard release, asking for privacy, and send it to them both that evening. They also agree that, for the time being, one of them should probably move out, and Leslee volunteers. She's supposed to fly to New York the next day, anyway, to interview dancers for her Madison Square Garden special.

Vince sees her off at the car, then goes back in to talk to Ari and Shauna alone. "Now what?" Ari says nervously as Vince sits on the couch.

"That's what I was going to ask you," Vince says.

Shauna looks from him to Ari and then back. "Listen," she says, "if you're asking what I think you're asking, then the answer is yes." Vince raises an eyebrow, not sure what she thinks he's asking. "Wait a year, though. We both agree, you're well-established, you've got the credentials enough now, and - assuming you haven't changed your mind about Eric - this is probably the time."

Vince swallows. "Seriously? You think we should come out?"

"As much as it pains me to advise you in any way to do something that has such explosive potential, yeah, Vince," Ari says. "You guys want to make it official, it's up to you."

"That's not going to make the marriage look like a fraud?" Vince asks.

"Well, sure, if you get caught banging E in the bathroom at Koi tomorrow, we're gonna have a problem," Ari says. "But if you keep your story straight, say something like, he helped me through my divorce, blah blah blah, and we make sure your attractive ex there is going to back you up - then everything should be fine."

"The press will eat it up," Shauna confirms.

"Break up and rebound stories are like ambrosia for the paps," Ari says. "Irri-fucking-sistible."

"That's sweet." Vince shakes his head. "Good thing I'm not really broken up, huh?"

"Just act sad the next few months," Shauna says, and Vince thinks, that won't be so hard.

"OK." He stands up. "I guess, uh, thanks, guys."

"When you're ready, we'll talk it through," Shauna says. "You bring E in, we'll do a cover with somebody good, get your story out right away."

He nods and thanks them again and has his phone open before he's even at the elevator. Eric answers on the fourth ring, sounding sleepy. "Where've you been all day?" he asks. "Turtle's mad, you punked out on going to see that stereo thing."

"I need to talk to you," Vince says. "Are you at your place?"

"Yeah. Everything all right? You sound stressed."

"A little. I'll explain when I get there."

At Eric's, he lets himself in and finds Eric dozing on the couch. "Hey," Eric says, yawning.

"Hey," Vince says, insinuating himself between Eric and the back pillows. Eric turns onto his back and looks up at him, and Vince looks at the lines that have spread at the edge of his eyes, the tiny creases in his forehead that he's become so used to. Eric's over forty now, too; they've known each other for more than thirty years, they've been in love for nearly a decade. Vince runs his fingers through Eric's hair and Eric's eyes close. "It's the middle of the day, man," he says. "You OK?"

"Stayed up late."

"Yeah? The guys were over?" Eric nods. "You had a party without me, huh?"

"You were with your wife." Eric opens one eye. "Karma."

"Yeah." He shifts so his hand is resting on Eric's ribcage, his other elbow bent so he can prop up his head. "About that."

"Something up with Les?" Vince leans down and kisses Eric's forehead, then, softly, his mouth. Eric cups his jaw and then slides his hand into Vince's hair. "What's up, Vin?"

"She wants a divorce."

Eric blinks. "You're serious?" Vince nods. "Whoa. Holy shit. What happened?"

"Mark," Vince says. "He's leaving his wife. They're gonna start a family."

"Wow." Eric still has his hand tangled in Vince's hair. Vince ducks to kiss him again, and Eric responds, opening his mouth. "So what- "

"Let's celebrate," Vince says, rolling over so he's lying between Eric's legs.

Eric grins. "Yeah, let's."

They make love slowly, Vince looking into Eric's eyes the whole time, Eric making very pleasing tiny gasps as Vince moves inside of him. Afterwards, Eric falls asleep almost instantly, and Vince gets up to get a drink and a towel. He cleans Eric up and rouses him, takes him back to bed, stretches out beside him for a midday nap. He thinks that over dinner, he'll tell Eric he wants him to move in. He'll tell Eric he wants to get things started for real. 

 

* * *

 

So they separate, and it's hard, like Vince thought it would be. They go to Australia and he's busy filming and all of that, so that helps, but he still feels weird. Sad, kind of strangely lonely, even though Eric's with him the whole time. He listens to Leslee's CDs sometimes, because hearing her sing - even though he knows the songs aren't about him - kind of helps. Near the end of the shoot, Eric comes into his trailer after a long day and slides the lock on the door. "You'll never guess where I've been," he says, kicking off his shoes before taking a seat on the couch.

"Where's that?" Vince asks, lifting his feet into Eric's lap. He's sore and tired from running around on set all day, filming a scene where he races around a hospital, careening into stretchers and heavy double doors. He can't wait to get up early to do it all again the next day. This action thing may kill him yet.

"Talking with Mike. He wants to know, are you going to be OK, with this whole thing with Leslee." Eric shakes his head, and his hands rest on Vince's ankles. "He's worried you're depressed."

"Yeah? That's funny."

"Yeah, except for the part where he had a vulgar suggestion for how to cure your blues." Vince raises an eyebrow. "Apparently he's a big fan of a certain escort service around town." Vince groans. "Don't worry, I told him I've got a small professional problem with his suggestion."

"My hero," Vince says, closing his eyes.

Eric rubs Vince's calves. His voice is gentle. "You miss her, huh?"

"Yeah," Vince admits. "Not - not like they're saying, but- "

"I know," Eric says. "I miss her, too. I got pretty used to her being around."

"No kidding." Vince sighs, then yawns. "I'm tired. You staying tonight?"

"Is that OK?"

"Don't expect any excitement," Vince says, and Eric laughs.

The next day, Vince works hard to act more cheerful on set, so that the director doesn't get any more concerns about him. It makes him even more exhausted at the end of the day, and when Eric says he thinks he's going to go back to the hotel, Vince says fine and stays inside his trailer alone. He wakes up at 6 and starts the whole thing over again, gets his first break at three and drags himself back to his trailer for a cup of tea and a sandwich. While he's waiting on craft services to deliver, he glances at the watch on his bedside stand, still set to U.S. time, and then calls Leslee. It's nearly eleven in California, and he's not sure where he'll find her, or even  _if_  he'll find her. They haven't talked much since she left for New York in February.

"God, I'm so glad it's you," she says, and he smiles and falls back into his bed.

"It's insanely good to hear your voice," he says. "How are you?"

"Busy. Good," she says. "You?"

"The same."

"E?"

"He's good," Vince says. "Mark?"

"Yep. Good." There's a pause, and then Leslee sighs. "It's weird, right? But I miss you like crazy."

"Yeah," Vince says. "Totally. I know." There's another pause, and then he says, "Look, just tell me about your day. How's the tour?"

They talk for thirty minutes, until there's a hard knock on Vince's door and Eric walks in with a PA on his heels. Eric taps his watch, and Vince nods. "Look, I've gotta run. Take care, honey, OK?"

"You too," she says. "I'll try and call when I have time, OK? I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he says, not looking at Eric. "Talk soon." He closes the phone and turns, carefully composed in the PA's presence. "OK, what's up?"

Filming gets done early that night, so Vince rides back to the motel with Eric. They have adjoining rooms, so Vince goes into his own suite and then walks into Eric's to collapse on the bed. Eric's in the bathroom; he can hear the sink running. "Hey, you wanna get dinner or something?" Vince asks, patting his stomach. "The catering kind of sucks, huh?"

Eric emerges from the bathroom with his face and neck damp, holding a hand towel, dabbing at his hair. "How was Leslee?" he asks, his voice flat.

Vince shrugs. "Same old Les. She's good. She's back in L.A. for a few days, then they go to Ohio or something at the end of the week." Eric rubs his face dry. "She asked about you, sent her love."

"I'm sure she did," he says. He drops the towel onto the cabinet and leans back against the wall, crosses his arms. "You can't do this anymore."

Vince rolls onto his side, looks over at Eric. "Do what?"

"Just - you aren't with her anymore," Eric says, and Vince rolls his eyes. "You're separated, you're getting a divorce."

"She's my friend," Vince says. "You know that. That didn't end because- "

"Are you in love with her?" Eric's voice is very quiet, so quiet that Vince almost thinks he hasn't heard him right. Then he replays the question in his head and it's like he's been hit in the chest.

He takes a gulp of air. "E - what?"

"You're - the last time you were like this, this upset, you- " Eric shakes his head.

"E, seriously," Vince says, sitting up. "How can you even - I mean, we've been through this before. Why would you think - "

"Because you fucked her," he says, and Vince flinches again like he's been hit.

"What?"

"Alyson told me." His voice is hard, steely, but still quiet. It's a little scary.

Vince rubs his own neck, tries to take a slow deep breath. His heart is pounding; he's actually, briefly, dizzy. There are a thousand things he wants to say or should say, should maybe even say it's not true, but instead he blurts, "When?"

"After they broke up. She called me, she thought I knew." He looks down, and Vince feels a little like throwing up. He remembers how busy Eric was around that time, how much work it seemed to take to get the picture settled, how invested he suddenly became in the game. How Vince thought it was OK, because it meant he got to spend more time with Leslee, who needed him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Vince asks.

Eric sighs. "You were married to her," he says. "I guess - I figured it was about what I should have expected."

"E, no," Vince says. "I - you didn't - I was angry and drunk, and I couldn't even go through with it. I mean, there was no magic, we never- "

"Oh, come on," Eric says. His voice is full of anger, but he looks, somehow, very small and weary, hunched up against the wall. He raises his hands to form quotation marks. "'Married nights?'"

"No!" Vince says. "E - that once and that was it. The night we fought, after Greece, she'd been fighting with Aly, too, and we just - it was a one-time thing, we never, ever, not even once after that." He knows he sounds like he's begging, but - fuck it, he is, he will. "E, I love you, I have been faithful to you for ten years, minus about five minutes, and even then, all I could think about was you."

Eric swallows and turns to the mini bar, gets out a bottle of water. Vince is surprised to see his hands are shaking, and he stands up, takes Eric's hands into his own. "E, please," he says, looking down at their hands, trying to make his voice as sweet and apologetic as possible. "Please, I'm so sorry. I never, ever wanted to hurt you, and I know I've been - that this has been horrible for you, that the last few years - "

"Shut up, all right?" Eric says. He draws his hands back. "Look. Just, not tonight, OK? Not here. We can - all of this can wait until filming is done. Let's just - let's take a little time."

"A little time... apart," Vince says, and Eric nods.

"Just while we're here, at least, and until - " He pauses and Vince can't even breathe. "It's just, I think we, I think I need a little space. To think some stuff over."

Vince manages a slow breath. It feels again like Eric's hit him. He's unsteady on his feet. "I don't understand," he says quietly. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"No," Eric says, but his voice doesn't sound very certain.

"Oh, Jesus." Vince turns around and walks to the adjoining door, grabs the frame just for something to hold onto. "Holy fuck, E," he says. "What's gonna happen, now?"

"Nothing," he says. His voice is totally fake, though, completely unreassuring. "Everything's fine."

"It's not- "

"Vince," Eric says, and Vince can hear exhaustion behind his exasperation, and he gets it. Eric is at some kind of breaking point, and if Vince pushes too hard - everything could come apart.

He nods, keeps his eyes down. "I'll, uh, I guess this means no dinner, huh?" he says, aware that his voice is too high, aware that he sounds, suddenly, absolutely pathetic.

He sees Eric's shoes approach, and is surprised when Eric touches him, just a friendly hand on his ribcage. "Just get some rest, OK?" he says.

Vince nods. He wants Eric to kiss him. He wants some sign that things are going to be OK. He gets neither of these, though, besides Eric's hand on his abdomen, and so he grips that and holds it until Eric looks at him. It's a tired, frightened, bewildered look that Vince doesn't like at all, and he drops Eric's hand and looks away.

"OK," he says, and steps back into his room. He goes to the bathroom, and by the time he's out, Eric's closed the door between them. Vince can't make himself try the door handle; if Eric's locked him out, he doesn't want to know.  
  


 


	4. Chapter 4

So things get weird. Vince tosses and turns all night, rehashing their conversation, kicking himself for admitting to cheating at all, after everything he and Eric have been through. He knows that if it were him, he wouldn't believe that nothing else happened. He'd never be able to believe it. Eric, whose imagination has always fueled his jealousy, can't actually believe nothing happened. He must have been sick for years about things, must've thought Vince was cheating on him right under his nose, and Vince never noticed. He's sure he'll never be forgiven.

The next morning they have breakfast with the director in his suite. Eric won't meet his eyes, even though his voice is steady. Business as usual, business like it's been for the last ten years. Vince excuses himself and throws up in the bathroom, mostly orange juice and bile. He's never dealt well with anxiety, because he's only really felt it a few times in his life: when he was a kid and his dad was still drinking, for instance. Now, his stomach is a mess. He feels like the entire world is crashing, like he could walk out of the bathroom and right into a firefight or a huge canyon, like he could just freefall to his death. He closes the toilet lid and sits very still, his face pressed into his hands, and wonders if he's going to be able to survive two break ups in a year. He wonders if this was what he was supposed to feel over Leslee.

When he can get up, he washes his face and slicks back his hair; it doesn't matter how bad he looks because they all heard him. He practices a weary smile in the mirror and finds it convincing enough. In the living room both the director and his assistant stare up at him with wide, worried eyes. Eric is looking somewhere to his left. "Vince, are you OK?"

He nods and rests his hand on the back of his own chair. "This is terrible," he says, putting on his best rascal smile, "but I think maybe I just had one too many last night. Night off, you know how it is. It's been a long time since I had anything to drink, I guess I don't handle it as well as I used to."

The director nods, seems relieved. The only one in the room who knows he's lying is Eric. Just like old times. Vince takes a seat and waves off the director's concern when he offers to clear the table, in case the smell of the food is bothering him. Actually, what's really getting to him is Eric's cologne.

They leave the meeting with a plan for the next week; the AD, who came in late, gave Vince some notes on the last scene that he thinks are bullshit. Normally, he'd bring this up with Eric, but the minute they're in the hall together there's a weird tension again. In the elevator, Vince leans against the wall and closes his eyes, lets the motion blend with his nausea.

"Are you really hung over?" Eric asks.

"No," Vince says, surprised. "You can't tell the difference?"

"You sick?"

"Sure," Vince says. Ten years and Eric can't tell what's a hangover and what's not? Eric doesn't even know him this well? Jesus Christ. He pushes past Eric to get out of the elevator on their floor, and it takes him three tries to get his own door open. They aren't filming until dark today, so Vince spreads out on his bed face down. He pulls a pillow over his head as if it could block out everything he's thinking and feeling: the fight with Eric the night before, the avoidance this morning, the years before this that Eric's probably been adding up in his mind. Vince knows he's fucked, and suddenly it hurts like crazy, makes his stomach cramp and his face turn hot, because after all of this, after all the faking and lying and protecting, he's going to lose Eric anyway. It's all been for nothing. He's been the happiest man on earth for ten years in every magazine on the planet, and now he's going to pay for it.

He works that night even though he doesn't feel like it. He's grateful for the make-up, grateful for Mike's patience and for the pre-existing rumors about his depression over Leslee. His co-star is a forgiving young woman who tells him during a break that she's been fighting with her boyfriend.

Vince barely stops himself from saying, yeah, me too.

They wrap a week later and Vince is supposed to go to the cast party. He hasn't really talked to Eric since their fight at the hotel, except for business stuff, and it's fucking alarming how easy that was, how much it felt kind of like normal. He's sick almost every morning just from anxiety, and on the way to the party, he feels a rumble of the same nervous-nausea again. Eric's waiting at the party: it promises to be a night of fake-friendliness in front of the whole cast, Eric standing at his elbow, reminding him of names, Vince leaving early with the smell of his cologne stuck on him. He leans forward to tell the driver to take him back to the hotel. "Wait here," he says, jogging out at the front. He throws whatever clothes he can find in his bag and goes to Eric's room to get his passport out of the safe. An empty glass and empty bottle of Jack sit on the bedside stand, the first sign Vince has had all week that Eric's feeling anything but businesslike about the whole thing. He sits on the bed and looks at the bottle, looks at the watch sitting next to it that he bought Eric a million years ago. He picks up the tiny pad of hotel stationary and writes:  _I'm tired. I'm going home. See you back in L.A._  The pen hovers over the paper for a moment - he's not sure how to sign it. Finally he just scribbles a V and drops the pen. He picks up the watch and slides it into his pocket, then leaves.

The driver takes him to the airport, where he pays way too much for a first-class ticket to New York. He calls Turtle while he's waiting for the plane. "E's gonna call you in a while," he says, keeping his head down. He's in a small telephone box, talking on his own cell; outside, the concourse is nearly empty, predictable for a Saturday night, but a few shopkeepers seem to have recognized him.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Just tell him you talked to me, I'm fine, and I'm going to my mom's for a while."

Turtle coughs. "What? Where are you? I thought you were in Australia."

"I am, for a few more minutes."

There's a long pause. "Vin, are you guys, uh, splitting up?"

"I don't know," he says. "I think maybe we already did. He won't even- " he stops, because suddenly his eyes are wet.

"Hey, are you OK? Where are you?"

"I'm fine," Vince says, wiping his eyes. "I'm not gonna do anything crazy, I just - I need to get away for a while, OK? Can you tell him that?"

"Why don't you tell him?" Turtle asks. "You know how he is, he's gonna go fucking ballistic, man, he's not gonna believe me."

Vince sighs. "Make him, all right? And - I don't think he wants to see me for a while, either."

"Christ," Turtle says. "I'm sorry, man." He sounds it.

"Thanks," Vince says, or tries, but he's a little choked up. "I'll see you," he manages, and then hangs up the phone. He rests his head in the crook of his arm for a minute and concentrates on breathing slowly, evenly, not thinking about anything, about Eric or Leslee or any of that. He hits the bathroom, washes his face until he looks human again. First class has free drinks, and it only takes three to make sure he's knocked out before takeoff.

He takes a car from the airport to his mother's place, pays the guy extra hoping he won't talk. He hasn't even thought to call, and now he's worried she won't be home - but it's a Sunday afternoon, and he's in luck. She answers the door on his second knock, takes one look at him, says, "It's about fucking time," and wraps her arms around him.

He sleeps off the jet lag and the free drinks in the little guest room off the living room. She's in a freestanding house, now, something Vince bought her a couple of years back. It's a nice place, still in Queens, close enough to her friends that she can walk, but far enough away that he doesn't have to worry anymore. Eric bought his mother a place just down the street. Vince swallows and tries not to think about that.

"My poor baby," his mother says when he walks into the kitchen, and he accepts a hug, still sleep-tipsy, wondering how she knows. Then he gets it: she thinks he's there to recuperate after Leslee. He rests his head on her shoulder and sighs. "She wasn't good enough anyway."

"I don't want to talk about it, OK?" Vince says.

"Sure, baby, we don't have to." She rubs his back a minute and Vince is afraid he's going to cry, a grown man standing in his mother's kitchen. He pulls back.

"You have any coffee?" he asks.

"Bought some Starbucks stuff just for you," she says, and turns to her coffee pot.

He sits at the table, and it takes him a second to understand what she's just said. "For me? Wait, how'd you know I was coming?"

"Eric called."

Vince groans and puts his head down on the table. "What'd he say?"

"Said you were on a plane here. Asked if I'd call when you got in."

He looks up. "Did you?"

She shrugs, her back still to him, for which he's grateful. "Sure, last night."

"What'd he say?"

Now she turns, and Vince makes his face go blank. "What's this all about? He said thank you, like a good boy. Are you two having some kind of fight?"

He shrugs. "He didn't say - he's not coming out here, is he?"

"No, he said he was on his way to L.A. tomorrow," she said. "I invited him, of course. I know Lois would love to see him. But he sounded pretty busy."

Vince puts his head back down. He feels a mix of things: relief, guilt, anger, anguish. It hits him that he really thought Eric would follow him, that he thought Eric would chase him down. Maybe - fuck, he thinks, maybe things really are over.

"Honey, you don't look so good," his mother says, her hand dropping on to his shoulder. "You want to lay down again?"

He shakes his head. "Can I have a glass of water?"

Instead of the usual line - glasses over there, sink works like always - she says a gentle sure and gets a cup for him. He takes a wary sip and feels five years old when she sits next to him and starts rubbing his back. "There, there," she says. "You're gonna get through this just fine. I was wreck when your father left, too, you remember. But I got through it, so will you."

Now he gives up, turns and hugs her, and cries. 

 

* * *

 

So he stays in New York. His mother makes him French toast for breakfast and macaroni and cheese for dinner, does all of his laundry, and lets him watch whatever he wants on TV. It's like every day is his twelfth birthday. His sister Sheryl brings her son Davey over in the afternoons for their mom to watch, and Vince spends hours playing with him, complex four-year-old games where they build tall stacks of blocks and then knock them all over. It makes him sad every single time. The pictures from the airport in Australia make it into the tabloids by the end of the week, which earns him a phone call from Shauna. "What's the story?" she asks. Her voice is strangely sugary and gentle.

"I was tired," he says. "I didn't think anyone was around. I'm sorry."

"Honey, don't even worry about those pictures," she says. "They're like gold so far as I'm concerned. What I'm more worried about is you and this disappearing act."

"Clearly, I haven't really disappeared," he says.

She makes a dismissive noise. "What's going on, Vincent?"

"Nothing." He's lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, which is plain white popcorn. Down the hall, his mother and Sheryl are talking quietly, and there's the squeaky chatter of his nephew underneath it all. It should be comforting, but Vince just feels tired. "Did you need something?"

"I talked to Eric." Vince closes his eyes. "Do we need to talk about this?"

"Talk about what?"

"Honey -"

"I gotta go, Shauna, my sister's here." He hangs up and slides the phone under his pillow, right next to Eric's watch, then rolls onto his side. When he hears the front door close, meaning Sheryl's left, he doesn't get up, just stays lying there. There's really nothing to be done. He's mourning a ten-year relationship that, to most of the world, never existed. He'll get back to L.A. and Eric will have moved all of his stuff - the few things he kept at Vince's place, even after Leslee left - out, and, the way things are going, he'll have quit his job by now, too. Eric doesn't need him anymore; he's rich in his own right, thanks to the last few production deals he's made and some very wise investments. And Eric'll bounce back from this just fine - he always has. Vince has watched Eric get over heartbreak a dozen times in their lives. He always falls back in love again.

Vince isn't sure he's got it in him to do this all again. He feels used up, lonely, exhausted. Empty.

His mother opens the door, letting in a thin strip of light; he hadn't even realized how dark the room had turned. "Honey, you awake?"

He blinks. "Hey."

"You wanna get up, eat something? I got everything for Reubens."

"No thanks, Ma," he murmurs.

"Vincent." He closes his eyes again, not wanting to hear whatever she's going to say.

"I'm fine, Ma, really, I'm just kinda tired."

She pauses, but he doesn't move. "OK," she says, finally. "I'll leave the bread out, though, if you want it. I'm going over to your aunt's tonight, you remember that?"

"Sure."

"You want to come along?"

"No, thanks." He manages to give her a smile. "I think Davey just wore me out. Tell her I'll see her later, OK?"

"You get some bad news from Hollywood?"

"Everything's fine," he says, an unintentional echo of Eric that makes him clutch the watch a little tighter. "Tell everyone I said hello."

When she leaves again he's aware of the darkness, and he doesn't care. He really is tired. His head hurts. When he closes his eyes he thinks about Eric; when they're open he thinks about Eric. He slips on the watch, then pulls the phone out from under the pillow.

"I didn't think you would answer," he says when he gets Eric's voice mail. "I probably wouldn't have, if you'd called me. I just - I wanted to say - oh, fuck, E." He pauses, holds the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can wrap his fingers under the band of Eric's watch. The metal bites into his wrist. "I miss you so much," he says. "I miss - I think maybe I miss things we didn't even have, but I miss, like, coming home to you, staying with you, sleeping with you. I miss - I miss the face you make when you're pissed off at me, the way you roll your eyes at Ari. And I've been - I don't know, E, I don't know what I'm gonna do if that's all over." He has to pause for a moment, because he's getting choked up again. "Eric," he whispers, and then shakes his head. "I'm a fucking mess, I don't know how you're doing. I miss you, I love you, I'm sorry. I don't know what to do, E, I don't - I don't know what - I gotta go." He hangs up fast, shuts the phone off but can't let go of it or the watch. He falls asleep with his arms crossed, holding on to both items so tightly that his fingers are numb when his mother wakes him later that night.

"Sweetheart," his mother says, stroking his forehead.

"Ma?" He feels feverish, hot and cold at the same time. He drops his phone, looks at the welts in his fingers from holding the watch too tightly.

"Vincent," she says softly. She cups his jaw. "Honey, Eric's mother just called. He's worried sick about you, says you aren't answering your phone, that you left some kind of message."

Vince closes his eyes, presses his face into his pillow. There's nothing he can say. He feels broken up inside, but he also feels a little jolt of something, happiness or love or something, when he hears that Eric's worried about him.

"It's time you tell me what's going on," his mother says.

So he does.

That night, she still makes him macaroni and cheese, and she serves it with a glass of bourbon that he drinks like it's water, then she puts him to bed. When he wakes up the next day, he hears voices in the living room and stumbles out, thinking he'll find Davey and Sheryl already there.

Eric's sitting on the couch, drinking coffee, looking amazing. He's wearing snazzy L.A. clothes - Gucci slacks that Vince bought him last Christmas, a dark button down - and is clean-shaven. His hair is styled and even his nails look shiny. Vince is in his shorts, a very old T-shirt, and a ratty robe that belonged to one of his brothers once upon a time. He hasn't shaved or brushed his hair in two days.

"Hey," Eric says.

"Uh, hey." His voice sounds rusty, and he clears his throat. He wants to go back to his room, get dressed, get a shower, at least brush his teeth, but he also doesn't want to take his eyes from Eric. He's worried that he's hallucinating.

His mother appears around the corner, then, holding another cup of coffee. "I thought I heard you," she says. She kisses his cheek. "Honey, get cleaned up, then you're both gonna eat some French toast."

Vince looks at Eric, who nods, like he's really there, like he's going to stay. "OK," he says.

He showers fast but takes his time shaving, brushes his teeth twice, lingers at his dresser trying to pick out something right to wear. He settles on jeans fresh and soft from his mother's laundry and the nicest shirt he's got, a pale tan button-down with crosshatched blue and green. He slides the watch into his pocket. Then, his feet still bare, he walks back into the living room. Eric's no longer on the couch, and Vince has a moment of heart-stopping panic before he hears his voice in the kitchen.

"Hey, that's better," his mother says when he walks in. "We got hungry just waiting."

"Sorry," Vince says. He sits at the table across from Eric, and his mother hands him a cup of coffee, which Vince curls his hands around. Up close, Eric doesn't look nearly so put-together: there are circles under his eyes, his nails are actually chewed jagged under the shine, and he looks a little paler than usual. Vince looks up, then down, then up, not sure if he wants to meet Eric's eyes yet or not.

"This is really amazing, Rita," Eric says. He has two pieces of French toast in front of him already, and though he's cut it up nicely, Vince can't tell if he's actually eaten anything.

"Well, there's more where that came from," she says. She slides a plate in front of Vince, and he smiles up at her, or at least tries to. His stomach is churning too much for him to eat anything. "But I'll tell you what, now that you're cleaned up, I think I might get ready, too," she says, even though he can tell she's already showered and dressed for the day. She squeezes his shoulder, then walks out of the kitchen. He hears her go upstairs.

This time, he looks right over at Eric, and Eric sets down his fork.

"When did you, uh, when did you get in?" Vince asks.

"This morning," Eric says. "I - I got a flight out of Van Nuys last night, after I got your call."

Vince nods. He takes a wary sip of his coffee, but it just makes his stomach hurt a little more. "I'm sorry about that," he says. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"What happened?"

"I talked to Shauna, about those pictures." Vince looks up, sees that Eric is frowning, his hands clamped hard around his own coffee mug. "E," he says, "are you - why are you here?"

"To make sure you're OK," Eric says.

Vince nods. "I'm fine."

"You look it."

"Thanks." Vince looks up, expecting to catch Eric smirking. Instead, he's still frowning, looking sad and a little worried and scared. "Are you going to stay?"

"We need to talk," Eric says.

"Yeah," Vince says. But he doesn't want to. If Eric's come all this way to say they can still be friends or something, that they need to think of his career, well, that's definitely more than Vince can take. He pushes back from the table and stands up, crosses to the sink, feeling vaguely nauseated. Water might be good, he thinks, and turns on the tap, reaches for a glass. As he starts to fill it, he hears Eric's chair slide out, and then he feels Eric's arms around his waist. Vince turns off the sink and then just stands there, very still, feeling Eric breathing through his thin shirt.

"Those fucking pictures broke my heart," Eric says.

Vince sets the glass down on the counter, carefully touches Eric's hands where they meet at his waist. Eric doesn't pull away. "What now, E?"

"I don't know," he says. He starts to draw back, but Vince doesn't let go. "Maybe, maybe we go somewhere and talk some more."

"Go somewhere?"

Eric laughs, just quickly, and Vince feels it against his shoulder blade. When he speaks, his voice is low, but somehow soothing. "I love your mom, man, and she's being really cool, but - maybe somewhere with thicker walls."

Vince nods, though suddenly the idea of leaving the house fills him with dread. Maybe Eric wants to yell at him. Usually, he doesn't mind that - likes the spark in Eric's eye, likes his energy, but right now he could do with just standing here like this for a while.

"Come on," Eric says gently, and he tugs on Vince's waist until Vince turns. "We'll get a room at the Ritz, just for tonight. Neutral territory."

Vince shakes his head. "If you're - if you came here to- " he can't make himself say  _end things_ , can't even form the words  _leave me_. "I can't do it there. Just, just say it, and we'll- "

"Why would I fly three thousand miles to break things off?" Eric asks. His hands rest on Vince's sides, and Vince carefully, gently, afraid of being burnt, lowers his hands to Eric's shoulders.

"Promise?" Vince says.

"I promise," Eric says. "Unless you want- "

"No," Vince says. "I don't, I don't ever."

"OK, then." It's the relief in his eyes that makes Vince trust him. 

 

* * *

 

So they get a room. Together. Eric does all of the booking and puts it in his own name, but Vince is right there next to him at the counter and he doesn't back away from Eric, doesn't even try to conceal that they're together. He keeps his hand on Eric's shoulder as they walk to the elevator, and Eric doesn't shake him off. If it looks like they're heading for a romantic rendezvous, well, fine. For the first time Vince can remember, the truth is actually less scandalous than the appearance.

Eric's reserved a small suite, not the grand affair from Vince's party but still nice enough: two rooms, one with a TV and big couch, one with a King-sized bed and an attached bathroom. Eric drops his bag in the bedroom and Vince follows him in, and then, because he feels bewildered and tired in equal measures, he sits on the bed. Eric stands in the bathroom doorway for a second and Vince feels panicky, because this is, suddenly, too much like the scene in Australia. He starts to stand but Eric beats him to it, drops next to him on the bed.

"You look tired," he says.

"I am." Vince looks over at Eric. "So do you, actually."

"Yeah, well," he says, and then shrugs. "You've had your mom. I've had Drama and Turtle looking out for me."

"New haircut?"

"Your ex-wife dropped by," he says.

"Leslee?" Vince is almost afraid to say her name, like it's bad luck.

Eric smirks. "She said you'd never come back to me if I looked like a bum."

Vince turns a little. "Eric, I didn't leave you," he says. "I just - I thought you were done with me."

"Done with you?" He looks completely perplexed. "Vin, I don't even know what that would look like."

He looks down at Eric's face, his eyes that seem as tired and bloodshot as Vince's feel. "I'm sorry," Vince says. "Can we - there's nothing else I can say. I messed up one time, a long time ago, and I'm sorry about it and either, either you're here to say we can move on or - "

"Or?"

"Or I don't know, E," Vince says. He's staring down at his own hands. "Or I'm gonna move back in with my mom or something, I don't - I don't have a future plan without you in it." And that's the truth, that's everything he needs and wants to say. He can't bear to look up and see Eric's expression, just in case he - just in case.

"Vince," Eric says after a moment, his voice terribly soft. Then Eric's hand slides over and his fingers wrap around Vince's wrist, where it's still red from him pulling the watch too tightly in his sleep. "I love you way more than I should," he says. "Christ, I wish I didn't, I know it's not good for either of us, but- "

"Shut up," Vince says, turning his hand and holding Eric's. "Please fucking shut up."

"Yeah," Eric says, and then he leans over and kisses the side of Vince's head, rests his own head on Vince's shoulder. Vince puts his arms around Eric and they sit like that, awkwardly fit back together, and Vince feels relief and something like hope.

"I love you," he says, quietly. "Not her. You. Always you. And I miss her, but only - only because she was my friend, I got used to living with her. But I want, all I want, is to get used to living with you, now. OK?" He turns, looks at Eric full on. "E, we'll go out there right now, we'll- "

"No," Eric says, but he says it softly. "We're not throwing the last ten years away, OK?"

Vince meets his eyes. Eric isn't going to leave him, everything's going to be OK. He feels happy and, strangely, angry, suddenly really fucking pissed off that it ever came to this. "You need to be honest with me," he says. "From now on. E, don't fucking - none of this stupid suffering in silence bullshit anymore, OK? If you think something's up, you gotta tell me." He manages a little smile. "I have some experience with this marriage thing. We gotta talk stuff out."

"Trust me, if I think you're fucking anyone else ever again, you're gonna hear about it," he says.

"I'm incapable," he says. "Honestly, I think I might have a physical block on it." Eric nods, half of a smile on his face. Vince swallows. "Did you really think I might be in love with her? Like, that I would leave you or something?"

"I don't know," Eric says, and then he turns into Vince's side and ducks his head. Vince can't quite tell if Eric's crying or not, but he holds him tightly, knows this is exactly what's needed right now.

"Only you," Vince says, rubbing Eric's back. He's going to fix this, make Eric believe in him again, make things perfect between them. "I swear to God, E."

After a while, they shuffle back into the bed and actually lay down, and though Vince can't stop touching Eric, not for a second, they don't do anything more exciting than fall asleep pressed close to each other.

Eric wakes him up some time later; the room is dark around them except for the violet light filtering in from streetlights. "What the fuck is in your pocket?" he asks, turning in Vince's arms to face him. "And don't say you're happy to see me."

"I am happy to see you," Vince says, grinning. He shifts so he's lying on his back, Eric still propped above him, and he wriggles to get a hand into his pocket and pulls out the watch. "I ripped you off," he says, holding it out.

"I wondered," Eric says. "I kind of thought you might have thrown it out."

Vince shakes his head. He realizes, holding it now, that the watch might have an ugly association for Eric - it was, after all, what he bought to apologize for the Leslee affair. He reaches out to set it on the bedside table, and Eric stops him, takes the watch.

"You know what I like about this?" he asks, snapping it on expertly. "I like the way you look at it. Like, sometimes, we'd be at dinner with Leslee, and I'd pull my sleeve back just to see you glance over. You get this look - it's pretty fucking hot." He laughs around a delicious grin.

"I want to buy you another one," Vince says. "I want to buy you a million of them."

"I can think of better things for you to do with your money," Eric says. The hand with the watch starts undoing Vince's buttons.

"Such as?" he asks, busying himself with Eric's belt.

Eric smiles again, and with his hand rubbing over Vince's belly and his mouth only about an inch from Vince's, he says, "Buy me a house."

Vince meets his eyes. "Yeah? You need a new house?"

"We need a new house," Eric says. "Together. I think we should get a place."

"Thank fucking God," Vince says, and slides his hand into Eric's hair so he can draw him close enough to kiss. 

 

* * *

 

So later he gets the full story of Eric's week without him. He hears from Johnny how Eric wouldn't leave his house, not for drinks, not for food. He hears from Turtle about Eric bitching out the gardener for waking him up at noon. And much later, he hears from Leslee, who went to the house to yell at him after she saw the pictures of Vince in Australia and found Eric drunk in the middle of the day, cuddled up with Vince's Oscar on the couch. She was the one who made him get cleaned up, took him downtown to get a shave and a haircut, told him to get his ass across the country as soon as possible.

Vince sends her flowers when he finds out about that, and then sends another huge bouquet a few weeks later when he learns she's pregnant.

He and Eric talk to Marvin about their finances and begin to quietly house-hunt in the fall. By Christmas, they've bought a place that's almost the same size as Vince's current house but further back from the street, made for real privacy, the purchase shielded behind their various production interests so true ownership is hard to distinguish. Eric sells his condo for a tidy profit and uses some of the proceeds to pay for a three-week vacation to Ireland. Vince shaves his head the first night they're there and wears colored contacts under sunglasses and walks down the street with his arm around Eric's shoulders, Eric's around his waist. He calls it a trial run for coming out, and Eric laughs and doesn't flinch when Vince kisses his cheek while they're waiting for a cab.

In L.A., they visit Leslee and Mark and the twins and Vince can tell, from the friendly way Mark greets them both, that she's told him everything. He decides he doesn't really care, particularly since it means he can probably start seeing her more often again. They make a tentative plan to go to lunch with the girls in a few weeks, after Vince's big Oscar-bait movie opens in December.

Just before Christmas, they fly to New York and spend an early holiday with their families. Their mothers know everything but Vince decides to tell his siblings, too, and Eric stands beside him while he stumbles through a little talk about growing up and making some good decisions and all of that. Then Davey says, "But he's still Uncle Eric?" and Vince says yes and everyone laughs.

They spend Christmas Day in L.A. because the movie is opening. The numbers look perfect, right on target or a little above, exactly what they were hoping for. New Year's Eve they go to a couple of exhausting parties and still manage to be home, alone, by midnight, so they can fall into their King-sized bed so they're mid-fuck at midnight, and Vince whispers, "Best year ever, coming up," right into Eric's ear. After, Eric kisses his neck from behind and says, "So I was thinking, this year, maybe it's my turn to get married."

Vince laughs. "Yeah, you got someone picked out?"

"I do," he says, and he draws away. Vince turns and sees Eric sitting up, pulling a small box out of the bedside stand, and he looks up at Eric and smiles. The ring is a silver, twisted-metal band with a few discreet but beautiful dark sapphires lined up with a square diamond. It's masculine and pretty at the same time, and it fits - of course it fits - right on Vince's finger.

"Your finger looks sort of empty, after all this time," he says.

"I didn't get you -"

"Yes, you did," Eric says, tapping his watch, and they make love again to ring in the new year.

They make the big announcement just after New Year's, when the movie's been at the top of the box office for three weeks straight and everyone's still talking about the Oscars again. This time, Vince thinks Eric will win one of his own, and Ari and Shauna agree when they go up for their post-outing meeting at the agency.

"What's the fallout?" Eric asks.

He looks jumpy and pale; Vince has barely been able to convince him to eat the last couple of days, as he's been pacing around, worried that the timing was wrong, worried that they were opening Vince up to new, terrible personal attacks, worried that they were both going to be blacklisted. Now he grabs Eric's leg under the table to keep it from bouncing.

Shauna says, "It's helping the movie, if anything. There's a lot of interest, I've had calls about doing a piece on you two. The whole known-each-other-since-childhood thing is a great hook."

"A real American romance, see, E, what'd I tell you?"

"I hope you told him to take a Valium," Ari says. "Christ, you're making me nervous, E, and I didn't think I could get more nervous."

"It's not exactly your life on the line, is it, Ari?"

"Hey," Vince says, rubbing Eric's shoulder. "No one's life is on the line." He presses his ring finger against the back of Eric's neck, knowing he can feel the cold metal that way. Eric looks over and nods, offers a tiny grin in response.

"I think we might be out for part 3," Ari says, and Vince looks up. The third part of the animated franchise he started a few years ago is supposed to start filming in a couple of months. Vince has sort of been looking forward to it; it's not easy work, but it's easier than his usual fare.

"Over this?" he asks.

Ari shrugs. "They were talking about going in a different direction for a while. This maybe just decided it for them."

Vince glances at Eric, who looks like he's been kicked. "Ah, so what," Vince says. "Fuck 'em. A third movie was probably pushing it, anyway."

"And it frees you up to do the Scorcese film," Ari says, and tosses a script on the table.

Eric blinks. "Seriously?"

Ari crosses his arms. "I don't joke about Scorcese," he says, and Vince laughs.

He leans over and kisses Eric on the mouth, ignoring both his and Ari's surprised squawks. "Dream come true," he says, and Eric laughs too. 

 

* * *

 

So Vince wakes up one morning and realizes he's in love. Eric's asleep next to him in their big, shared bed, in their big, shared house, in their big, shared life. He slips his hand under Eric's T-shirt, rubs his spine, and nuzzles his neck. Eric grumbles and his hand cups Vince's cheek, and he blinks up at him. "Rise and shine, babe," Vince says.

"C'mon, it's barely dawn," Eric mutters.

"Time's wasting," Vince says, kissing him. He doesn't mind the morning breath, knows Eric doesn't mind his stubble. They've been friends for four decades, lovers for two, and Vince still can't get enough of Eric. He always feels like he's making up for lost time.

"Why can't you sleep in like a normal human being?" Eric asks, but he's awake now, too, and his hands grip Vince's shoulders when he slides down Eric's body. "Mm, OK," he whispers, and Vince smiles, kissing his thigh before taking Eric's cock in his mouth. After he's done, Vince kisses his way back up Eric's body.

"If I'd known that was what you wanted for your birthday, I could've saved myself some shopping," Eric murmurs, and Vince laughs.

That night, there's a small party in the backyard, exactly what Vince asked for: just friends and family. Turtle and his wife arrive first, followed by Johnny and his wife and their two boys. Ari and Mrs. Ari come next, along with Shauna and her daughter, who, at twenty, still giggles whenever Vince talks to her. A few other friends trickle in as well, all people Eric's invited with Vince's approval. Then, around nine, just as they're getting ready for the cake, Leslee and Mark and their kids - four, now, counting the youngest boy - show up. They all embrace and Vince lets the boy - little Tyler Vincent - help him blow out the candles on his fiftieth birthday cake.

Once they're out, and the cake is being sliced and distributed to his closest friends, Vince takes a step back to survey the crowd. Eric walks up holding two glasses of champagne, one of which he hands over before sliding his arm around Vince's waist.

"Thanks for kissing me," Vince says, looking down, and Eric raises an eyebrow.

"Which time?" he asks.

"The first time."

Eric nods. "Sure," he says. "Least I could do."

Vince grins. "It's been a pretty good life so far, hasn't it?"

Eric clinks their glasses together, and after Vince takes a drink, he leans down to kiss Eric and taste the sweetness on his tongue. "It's only gonna get better," Eric promises.

He's in love. He's successful. He's surrounded by friends. He can't imagine how things could be better, but if Eric says they will, he's willing to believe. "I'll drink to that," he says, and kisses Eric again.

 


End file.
